


Finding a Home

by The_Asset6



Series: Deleted Scenes and Broken Dreams [8]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Final Fantasy XV: Brotherhood Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:20:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: Life was hard enough when you were hiding a secret identity, especially one that kinda sorta made you an enemy of the state. Add that to being best friends with the crown prince...And high school...…Aw, man. This was going to be a bumpy ride.





	1. Baby Steps

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! After five chapters of Ardyn, I figured we could use something happy before the last two stories in the series. As always, there will be some notes and references at the end. Enjoy!

“All right—today’s the day!”

Prompto had long since made sure that everything was prepared: he’d gotten up earlier than the sun, gone for one last run before hurrying through the shower, and even went to the extra effort of ironing his new school uniform. His wristband was securely fastened over the weird barcode tattoo that had been on his wrist since before he could remember, and his hair was stiffly styled within an inch of its life. He’d even taken a moment to reread the very special letter he kept tucked safely away in a box inside one of his desk drawers. Nothing was out of place; everything was going to go according to plan.

He tried telling himself he had nothing to be worried about, but the likelihood of him passing out from the stress was still pretty high. After all, it wasn’t every day that you _finally_ made your move when you’d been thinking of nothing else for the last… Uh, maybe he shouldn’t count just how many years it had been. Would that be creepy? Maybe it would be a _little_ creepy.

Either way, this was his chance. It had taken a few years of hard work and not eating nearly as many sweets as he would have liked, but now he was finally comfortable enough with himself to approach Prince Noctis and offer a hand of friendship. That wasn’t to say that he was totally confident in his own skin—far from it, really. He was still hung up on all the imperfections he spotted when he looked in the mirror: his prevalent freckles, the way his hair swooped oddly down on one side of his face but not the other, the stubborn pouch of skin on his stomach that was giving him a hell of a time in toning the last bit of his physique. All in all, though, by the time he took the last _after_ picture of his reflection and threw on his uniform, he was feeling pretty good about himself for the first time. No, he wasn’t perfect, and he definitely wasn’t some prince who lived in a literal palace. But he was _okay_.

And more than that, he had the Oracle’s blessing! Prompto hadn’t realized who Lunafreya Nox Fleuret was when he had received her letter, but he’d heard about her enough on the radio in the intervening years to understand just whose dog he’d happened upon. That put an even greater burden on him not to fail. He didn’t know what connected Lady Lunafreya to Prince Noctis, but if she was worried enough about him that she was asking Prompto to be his friend… Who was gonna say no to the Oracle, right?

So, Prompto swallowed his nerves alongside the banana he grabbed on his way out the door and tried to remember why he was doing this. He wasn’t one of those attention-seeking idiots who just wanted to be friends with the prince for the star-struck looks he would receive; he hadn’t devoted every waking minute to earning the right to even _speak_ to his royal classmate for money or fame or anything like that. Prompto simply wanted to let Prince Noctis, who was notorious for spending every hour of the school day isolated from the rest of their peers even in the middle of a crowd, know that he wasn’t alone.

The reminder of his self-appointed task put a spring in his step as Prompto made his way towards his new school. It was hard to believe that he was already starting high school when it seemed like just yesterday that he’d gone to his elementary school commencement ceremony. (Okay, so maybe he’d actually _tripped_ his way through the ceremony and accidentally brought down an entire row of chairs in the process, but nobody thought about that anymore. Probably.) Now, fifteen years old and feeling absolutely _no_ different from the way he had back then, Prompto had to admit it was pretty cool. _High school_ —the last step before the big leagues. Didn’t adults always tell you high school was supposed to be the best time of your life and you should enjoy it? His own parents weren’t around enough to say much about their experiences, but he’d heard it enough from others to believe that his excitement was warranted.

That enthusiasm lasted until he actually made it to school. So…new record.

The high school was the nicest in Insomnia—it would have to be if the crown prince of Lucis was in attendance. The institution was removed from the hustle and bustle of downtown, settled in one of the greener districts in an impressive brick building with enormous windows. The inside had been bright and spacious when Prompto visited for orientation over the summer, and nothing but trees could be seen from most of the outdoor courtyards. It was a deceptive setup, really; if you could ignore the distant car horns and chatter of crowds, you could almost pretend that you were in the middle of nowhere.

Prompto figured that was probably what Prince Noctis was wishing for right about now.

When they were younger, it had been no surprise that people were constantly taken in by the prince’s mere presence; no one expected to go to school and find their future king sitting on the opposite side of the classroom. Other kids never got tired of barraging him with questions in the hall—about servants and cars and rooms and video games and all sorts of things that really didn’t matter all that much—and Prompto had always been able to see from afar that Prince Noctis wasn’t comfortable with the attention. Actually, he was never comfortable at all. He would make any excuse to get away from the hordes of gawking groupies that vied for his attention, vanishing into the bathroom until the bell rang or heading outside where he could put some distance between himself and the rest of the world. During their free periods, Prompto usually spied him out behind the gardening sheds where no one else would be able to find him, leaning against the overhang and looking for all the world like he just wanted to sink into the ground.

It had been difficult for Prompto to understand at first—why would _Prince Noctis_ , heir to the throne of Lucis and beloved son of a popular king, look so miserable all the time? He didn’t have the same problems Prompto did, after all: he wasn’t overweight and shy and absorbed in taking pictures rather than talking to the subjects he captured in them. No, the prince was lean, attractive, regal, and all the other things Prompto never would be. How, then, could he be so sad when he had everything he could possibly want handed to him?

And that was when Prompto realized that there were other things Prince Noctis would _never_ have no matter how hard he tried. He would never be able to find a moment’s peace from the constant stream of questions and comments; he’d never get away from all the people who only wanted to be his friend for what they could get out of him. Prince Noctis would never have the opportunity to just be a regular person, unburdened by a throne and all the expectations people piled on top of him as they got older.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d never had a _real_ friend he could trust.

So, even though it made Prompto’s heart beat faster in apprehension and his palms sweat more than when he’d first started running, he kept telling himself that Prince Noctis needed him—or someone like him, at least. When he woke up to see that it was raining outside and he _really_ didn’t want to go on his daily run, he would remind himself that the Oracle was counting on him to be that person the prince could rely on. Prompto hated admitting that he needed that push more often than not, but hey, he hadn’t given up yet.

He wasn’t going to either, especially not when it looked like high school was going to be exactly the same as every other year of their education so far. Seriously, how many times could people say the same thing?

_“_ Is that the prince?”

“Wow, I can’t believe we go to the same school!”

“Should we talk to him?”

_Is he a person or a circus attraction? Jeez._

To his credit, Prince Noctis made it through the entire day under the scrutiny of their classmates without crumpling, as usual. He had to be used to the attention by now, although Prompto noticed that it didn’t stop him from bashfully averting his gaze from the rest of the student body when the subtle whispers—and brazen shouts—reached his ears.

By the time the bell for their final break of the day rang, the last dregs of hesitation Prompto felt that morning had leaked away and left nothing but determination in their wake. Even if he hadn’t been preparing for this very moment for _ever_ , he would have found it difficult to take another year of this crap regardless.

_Come on, Prompto_ , he bolstered himself with a few confident strides. _No backing down now!_

With that, he broke into a sprint towards the prince’s retreating back and slapped him on the shoulder as he made his approach. Friendly, unassuming, _casual_ —all the things a first encounter should be, right?

Even if this…you know…wasn’t their first encounter. At _all_.

Prompto wasn’t going to think about that, though. Instead he offered the prince his widest grin and exclaimed, “Hey there, Prince Noctis!”

“Huh?” the prince eloquently reacted. If he had been surprised at Prompto’s sudden presence, he looked absolutely _shocked_ that Prompto had actually stopped to talk _to_ him. The latter paid it no mind and pressed on as if this were the most normal interaction in the world.

“I’m Prompto! Nice to meet you!”

For a second, Prompto thought for sure that he was going to be brushed off the way he usually was by…just about everybody. Prince Noctis stared at him as though he couldn’t believe Prompto was real, then dropped his eyes to look him up and down for a moment. Prompto could already see the thoughts that must have been whirling around his head— _isn’t this the fat kid—isn’t this the guy who couldn’t even jump over a pole without falling on his face—isn’t this the idiot who thought I was gonna take his camera instead of help him up—_

Prompto must have looked like such a moron, standing there introducing himself as if the prince would actually _want_ to be his friend.

The moment passed, however, and then Prince Noctis was actually _smiling_ at him. Prompto wasn’t sure he’d ever seen any emotion aside from apathy or discomfort cross the prince’s face, so it took a second for him to register the new expression. It suited him, and Prompto found that he wanted to bring that out more often.

“Don’t I know you?” asked Prince Noctis after a brief pause.

Okay, he couldn’t help being a _little_ surprised. The idea that the freaking crown prince of Lucis might actually kinda sorta remember him without automatically scoffing at the mental image that had to conjure up? Just…wow.

Prompto rubbed the back of his head and chuckled uncomfortably. He honestly hadn’t thought Prince Noctis really paid him any mind all this time, not unless they were thrown into a situation where they _had_ to interact. Sure, they’d exchanged a few glances over the years when it was unavoidable, but it wasn’t like Prompto had stuck around whenever the prince was nearby. He’d been too embarrassed, and the occasions when he sought out Prince Noctis only to chicken out at the last minute went unnoticed by the latter—as far as he knew, anyway. Maybe he hadn’t been quite as sneaky as he’d originally thought…

Fortunately, it didn’t appear that Prince Noctis wanted an answer to his question. If he could tell that the topic made Prompto uncomfortable, he tactfully didn’t mention it. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, though. When they started walking back towards the school for their last class together, he even slapped Prompto’s shoulder in retaliation for his earlier greeting.

They didn’t say much as they parted ways at the classroom door, but Prompto wasn’t deterred at all. The little flutter of excitement in his chest kept reminding him that their meeting had gone far better than any of his wildest dreams could have predicted. Everything he’d imagined up to now ended with either the prince thinking he was some creepy stalker or laughing in his face at the absurdity of them ever becoming friends… There was one time when he’d woken up with a start after having been dragged off by a bunch of royal guards for kneeling the wrong way. That was obviously a little _too_ extreme, even for _him_ , but he still had plenty of reason to doubt that things were going to go so well.

That thought alone kept him motivated through an hour of math (which he _definitely_ needed), and by the time classes ended for the day, he already had a plan for the next phase of _Operation Befriend the Prince_.

…Who was trudging towards the front of the building to meet his ride.

_Shit._

“Hey, Prince Noctis!”

Maybe it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn he saw the prince’s shoulders twitch stiffly as the latter turned around to look at him. Then Prompto noticed the way his lips were pressed into a thin line and realized his mistake.

“Just… You don’t have to use the title, you know?” the prince muttered with a halfhearted shrug.

“Oh, uh… Yeah. ‘Course. Sorry, dude,” Prompto immediately replied with a nervous laugh. The pri— _Noctis_ —shook his head.

“No, it’s…it’s fine. So…what’s up?”

“Well, see…” Prompto paused, suddenly unable to find the words that he’d totally been ready to say about five minutes ago. It left him stumbling over himself as he managed to stammer, “I, uh… I was just gonna see if maybe—y’know, if you’re not busy ‘n’ stuff—which you probably are, in which case it’s no big deal or anything, but—“

“Prompto.”

“…Yeah?”

Noctis smiled with a weary sort of amusement. “Spit it out.”

“Oh. Right. Uh. I was gonna head to the arcade and thought you might wanna come. If…y’know…you want,” he finished lamely, hoping his self-conscious grin made up for the pretty pathetic attempt at an invitation.

For half a second, Noctis’s face fell a little in what Prompto could only assume was stunned disbelief. Or maybe disappointment that he was going to have to find a way to decline without sounding like a jerk about it. Did princes care about that sort of thing, or did they just do whatever? Prompto had never seen Noctis get outwardly nasty with anyone, but it wasn’t like he’d know whether there was some royal protocol for how you were supposed to deal with your subjects.

The odd expression passed after a few seconds, though, and Noctis’s eyes darted towards the door as he scuffed his shoe against the tile. Prompto was busy preparing himself for the big letdown when he answered, “I can’t today, but…maybe tomorrow?”

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

Three.

_Score!_

“Yeah, totally!” exclaimed Prompto. He might have been bordering on _weird_ with just how huge his smile was, but he couldn’t help it, and his enthusiasm seemed to be cheering Noctis up anyway. “How about after school? There’s a pretty cool one a few blocks down.”

With a relieved half-smile, Noctis nodded. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

What followed was an awkward exchange of _goodbye_ s and _see you tomorrow_ s, finally concluding with Noctis being ushered into an expensive-looking black car and driven away from where Prompto was still frozen in shock at the entrance of the school—in the best possible way, of course. His feet may as well have been superglued to the pavement for all that they proved themselves ready to take him home; every bone in his body seemed to have turned into mush after the tension of _years_ of waiting finally paid off.

He was going to the arcade tomorrow with Noctis Lucis Caelum, crown prince and recluse extraordinaire.

They’d already talked more in one day than in ten years of school.

They were…not friends. An invite to play video games definitely didn’t catapult them into _friends_ territory. Could they be called acquaintances? Yeah, that sounded about right.

He and the prince were _acquaintances_. Everything had gone just as he’d hoped.

Now he just needed to make sure he didn’t screw it all up.

 

***

 

“You serious!? You’ve _never_ played it?”

Noctis shrugged. “Shooters aren’t really my thing.”

Groaning, Prompto hung his head in mock disappointment. “That game is _life_ , man! That’s totally the first thing we’re doing when we get to the arcade.”

For some reason, what he thought was an innocent comment about their plans brought Noctis up short, and Prompto had to duck out of the way to avoid getting plowed over by students ready to go home for the day. It usually wasn’t much of a surprise to see a reluctant, uncertain expression on the prince’s face—it was practically his natural state—but after a day of intermittent talking and teasing, Prompto had to admit that he was a little taken aback at the sudden shift in demeanor. Rather than the lighthearted smirk Noctis had been wearing for most of the day, the corners of his lips were turned down and he avoided Prompto’s gaze like he was afraid of what he might find there.

“You okay?” Prompto asked after a second, starting to feel that uncomfortable twitch in his gut that usually preceded throwing up.

“Yeah…” Noctis paused and seemed to pick his words out carefully before continuing, “Just a heads up: we’re not gonna be alone at the arcade.”

Blinking, Prompto slowly chuckled, “Uh…duh? I mean, it’s a pretty popular place after school and all.” A thought occurred to him, one that brought the excitement of the last two days barreling back down towards the earth, and he quietly offered, “But I guess if that makes you uncomfortable, w—“

“It’s not that.” Noctis seemed even more reticent to explain, and Prompto’s stomach suddenly decided it was going to get to know his feet a little better.

_He doesn’t want to go. He’s probably gonna make some random excuse about having to do big important royal things and ditch out…_

And could Prompto really blame him? After all, what did he have to offer the prince? _Friendship_ seemed kinda tacky when he really thought about it—the guy had everything he could ever want and more, so a friend probably wasn’t such a huge selling point. What the hell was he thinking, and what the hell was he going to tell the Oracle!?

_Way to go, Prompto._

“Listen, don’t freak out, but there’ll be a couple of guards with us.”

_…What._

Prompto shook his head, hardly realizing that his eyes had been pointed down at his shoes until they shot up to survey Noctis’s uncomfortable expression. As if sensing his surprise, the prince grimaced and hastened to reassure him, “It’s just a thing they have to do when I go places sometimes."

Well, _that_ made sense. Prompto could have smacked himself for jumping the gun so quickly, but instead he nodded in understanding. “To make sure it’s safe?”

“Yeah, that…and some other stuff.”

“Other stuff?”

There it was—that look like he would rather become one with the floor than answer a simple question. It appeared to take a lot of effort, but Noctis eventually muttered, “They…get uptight about new people.”

_…Oh. Right._

Before he had a chance to fully panic, Noctis interrupted his thoughts to say, “It’s not you, though. Seriously, they’d do this with anybody. I just…” He huffed out something like a laugh. “I don’t go places with people who don’t work at the Citadel that much.”

“Yeah,” Prompto snorted despite himself. “I kinda guessed that.”

Noctis smirked. “Right. I just didn’t want you to freak out when we got there or anything.”

“Me? Freak out? Dude, come on—I’m as cool as they come,” he lied with an exaggerated grin. He definitely understood why the _crown prince_ would be followed around by guards, but he couldn’t deny that he was kind of nervous about spending a couple of hours hanging out with them. Those old dreams of getting dragged off for some minor transgression still replayed themselves occasionally, after all.

“Sure,” lilted Noctis with a sarcastically raised eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”

There really wasn’t anything else Prompto could do besides slug him in the shoulder.

Plus, he had to get it out of the way before they were joined by two men in black suits practically the second they stepped outside the building. It took a conscious effort on Prompto’s part not to jump as they seemed to materialize out of thin air, but he was comforted by the gawks of their classmates—otherwise he would have thought he was imagining them. Noctis, for all that he had been nervous about Prompto’s reaction before, barely showed it now. He didn’t greet his guards or nod to them; to anyone who didn’t know better, it might have looked like he didn’t even know they were there. Prompto suspected that a lifetime of getting used to people hanging on your every word probably had a lot to do with that, but he still couldn’t help admiring that confidence. If _he_ had to be watched all the time… Well, for one thing, he was pretty sure that what little self-confidence he had would probably be nonexistent.

Maybe it was the way Noctis casually ignored their presence, or maybe they were just _that_ good at being invisible, but Prompto found that they faded into the background once you got used to them. Sure, he spent the entire time they were walking to the arcade carefully overanalyzing every word that came out of his mouth before they passed his lips and didn’t dare to do more than initiate a fist bump with Noctis, but after a while… The back of his neck started to itch a little less; his eyes darted to the dark figures in the corner of the arcade less frequently.

He smacked Noctis on the back in sympathy when he got shot down by aliens—no one tackled him.

He swatted away the prince’s hand when the latter tried to mess up his aim—he didn’t end up in a cell beneath the Citadel.

He did the sort of thing he always thought friends would do, and nothing bad happened. Instead, he was rewarded with a few winning smiles and a promise that they would do this again as they parted ways for the night. And when he got back home, he pulled out Lady Lunafreya’s letter and read it again only to discover that it didn’t fill him with the sense of mingled excitement and dread that it had before.

Was he friends with Prince Noctis? Nah.

But it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Prompto getting ready for school, the comments between classmates, and his first exchange with Noctis are taken from the "Brotherhood" anime.  
> 2) This chapter is very much some backstory to fill in the spaces between Prompto starting to work out after getting Luna's letter and when he finally speaks to Noctis. The next ones will have a little more new substance and dialogue.  
> 3) When you stay at the motel and the two talk, Prompto says that they met when they were fifteen at the beginning of high school. I know that high school starts at different ages depending on your location, but for the purposes of this story and maintaining some continuity with the game, I've written it this way.  
> 4) Wow, talk about strange to go from writing Ardyn to Prompto. Huge difference!


	2. Exposed

Okay. So there was one teeny tiny little factor Prompto hadn’t thought of when he decided to make nice with the future king.

Background checks. Yeah. Those were a thing.

“It’s just a formality,” Noctis said past one of the rice balls his chamberlain, Ignis, had made him for lunch. Prompto hadn’t met the guy yet, but if his cooking was anything to go by, he was probably some sort of god.

Not even a fascination with Noctis’s royal palate was enough to distract him from the issue at hand, however—namely, just how screwed he was about to be.

“They, uh…do this for everybody?”

Noctis nodded. “Pretty much. It gets annoying, but apparently it’s just another way to _ensure the safety of the Crown_ ,” he mimicked with an irritated roll of his eyes.

“M-Makes sense,” laughed Prompto, nervously toying with his wristband. Noctis swallowed his mouthful, frowned, and shot him a pointed look.

“Seriously, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s not like you run around robbing banks or anything, right?”

_If only._

“Dude, would _I_ do that?” Prompto grinned, bumping Noctis’s shoulder. The prince smirked and picked up another rice ball.

“You act all innocent, but I’m on to you,” he warned playfully, thankfully missing Prompto’s momentary grimace.

In the two weeks since they had first gone to the arcade, Prompto and Noctis had been nearly inseparable. At school, they hung out between classes and ate lunch together; Prompto was starting to notice a few green-eyed monsters hovering around that hadn’t been there before. The awkwardness of being in the presence of royalty had faded for him pretty quickly, though. Noctis was…surprisingly _normal_ for someone in his position. The more Prompto learned about him, the less he was able to see him as anything other than just _Noctis_ anymore.

For example, the crown prince of Lucis was a total _King’s Knight_ junkie. Prompto was losing count of just how many hours they’d spent playing when they probably should have been sleeping or studying. (That was a lie—he knew _exactly_ how many hours it had been because Noctis came to school the next day complaining that his chamberlain was already giving him hell over it. Prompto only felt _mildly_ guilty.) He’d also discovered that despite his deceptively quiet exterior, Noctis was sharp and had a quick tongue. Who could have anticipated that someone who was going to take the throne one day would be such a sarcastic asshole half the time? Of course, he didn’t see that as a bad thing—just unexpected.

Prompto only ever saw Noctis’s royal side when the inevitable text message or phone call came in while they were at the arcade, telling him that it was time to get back to the Citadel for the evening. When that happened, the prince’s face would fall a little and his eyes would go distant, like he had suddenly remembered that being a prince kinda sucked at times. He hadn’t mentioned it to Prompto yet, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

That oddly normal behavior was probably why Prompto didn’t see this coming in the first place. How many people had to worry about going through an extensive background check before they could officially be considered friends, though? He was ready to bet that it wasn’t many.

…Had the Oracle done a background check on him too?

No, that made no sense. She wouldn’t have known who he was to _do_ the check.

But…how else would she have found him?

Yeah, that wasn’t a line of thinking that ever yielded many answers, so he was just going to set it aside for now. Besides, he had enough to worry about right here in Lucis—like a Citadel full of guards figuring out his not-so-little secret.

“So, uh…” Prompto cleared his throat and offered up a weak, hopefully nonchalant smile. “How far back does this background check go?”

Shrugging, Noctis downed the rest of his water and replied, “I guess forever. Not like they tell me a whole lot about it.”

_Forever. Great._

“Y-Yeah, gotcha.”

It was a good thing the bell chose that moment to remind them that class was starting back up again, because Prompto didn’t know just how much more of that conversation he was going to be able to take without accidentally spilling all the beans himself. That might have been preferable to how the prince was probably going to find out, but the words stuck in his throat even as they rose up to betray him. Instead of exchanging any deep dark secrets, they tossed out their trash in silence—Noctis usually didn’t lead their conversations, and Prompto was too trapped in his own head to bother—and followed the rest of their classmates back inside.

How Prompto made it through the rest of the day, he would never really know. He could barely focus on what he was supposed to be doing in his classes, which was already hard enough on a _normal_ day, and moved from room to room like a zombie.

_If they find out, they’re not even gonna give me a chance to come back as a zombie…_

And that was enough of _that_ train of thought.

Noctis could tell something was wrong. He would have to be pretty unobservant not to, and Prompto’s preoccupation didn’t keep him from noticing the way the prince eyed him warily. Maybe he was already figuring out that there was something off about the whole thing—if Prompto was innocent, he wouldn’t have anything to worry about, right? It made him try a little harder to control his emotions, at least until he could have a nervous breakdown in the privacy of his own home, but the attempt fell pretty flat. He felt how tight his smiles were, and there was just no injecting any energy into his eyes. Every time he tried, it reminded him that he probably wouldn’t have anything to smile about in the _very_ near future.

Much to absolutely no one’s surprise whatsoever, Noctis didn’t mention it. They spent their last break quietly watching the birds fly overhead and listening to the distant sounds of traffic outside the bubble of the campus. With the exceptions of a few furtive but not unnoticed glances, the prince didn’t check to see if he was all right or ask what was wrong. Prompto had mixed feelings on that, if he was being honest. On the one hand, he appreciated being given the distance to work through what the hell he was going to do in peace; on the other, it would have been nice to know that his panic was acknowledged by _somebody_.

The same somebody who was probably going to see him rotting away in a cell for the rest of his natural life.

Never mind. Maybe Noctis _not_ asking was the better option.

Their final break passed, and their math class, then they were both heading home with little more than a nod to say goodbye. Prompto had thought he would feel at least slightly better once Noctis wasn’t around and he had time to think on his own, but by some crazy logic in his messed up head, the solitude only made things _worse_.

His mind was swimming with _what if_ s and _but maybe_ s as he trudged down the street. The back of his neck prickled with every step, and each passing car made him jump in fear that it was going to be full of the king’s men looking to take him into custody.

Could they do that, though? He hadn’t done anything wrong!

Then again, they were at war. Sorta. That part was always kind of murky to him what with all the stuff about the war ending but the fighting still going on. There was no arguing the fact that people would see him differently if they knew his secret, though. He’d spent the better part of his childhood wondering if that was why his parents were never around and couldn’t be bothered to do more than get on his case for one thing or another over the years. If everyone in Insomnia knew… If _Noctis_ knew…

_We could never be friends. He would never trust me, and all this would’ve been for nothing._

Needless to say, Prompto’s mind was full to bursting long before he walked through the door to his perpetually empty house. He distantly registered that he should get something to eat for dinner, but his body wasn’t paying any attention as it made a beeline for his room to collapse heavily onto his bed.

It was an hour, maybe two, before the text came through.

_“Sorry.”_

Prompto frowned at Noctis’s message, somehow summoning the energy to type back, _“For what?”_

_“All this trouble. It sucks.”_

If that wasn’t the understatement of the century, Prompto would eat his camera. Still, he wasn’t about to just say that when he could tell Noctis was feeling bad enough as it was (maybe not as bad as him, but he figured that was impossible anyway), so he aimed for some levity instead.

_“No biggie, dude. It’s not every day you get to say you got investigated by the Crownsguard lol.”_

There was a pause where the little bubble indicated that Noctis was typing, then stopped, then typing some more. Whatever he’d been planning to say, Prompto apparently wasn’t going to find out since, after a couple of minutes, the only thing he got back was, _“Still.”_

Prompto bit his lip and stared up at his ceiling, not quite sure what he could say to that. It obviously wasn’t just _okay_ for either of them, and Noctis was totally willing to call his bluff in the most annoyingly subtle way possible. (He would add this to the list of _Times When Noctis Went Into Prince Mode_.) There wasn’t a whole lot to reply with, though. Asking him to call off the investigation would probably be breaking a law or five, and laughing it off wasn’t going to get them anywhere. He’d almost decided to ask if Noctis would at least visit when Prompto ended up behind bars—the message was typed out and everything—when he groaned into the silence and deleted the text. _That_ wasn’t the way to handle things.

Eventually, he settled on something simple: _“Hey, what’re friends for?”_

_…_

_…_

_…_

The longer it took for Noctis to answer, the more Prompto internally cringed at his assumption. It had been _two weeks_. Yeah, they’d spent all their time at school together; sure, they’d gone to the arcade, like, six times. They’d stayed up late playing video games and texting, and their breaks between classes were filled with arguing over who had the better stats in _King’s Knight_. Did that really make them _friends_ , though?

Just when Prompto had begun to type out an apology, his phone pinged.

_“Thanks, Prompto. You’re the best.”_

_Huh._

The best. He was…the best. No one had ever called him that before—other stuff, but never that. It brought a smile to Prompto’s face even when he knew Noctis wouldn’t say that if he had all the facts, which he likely would by morning.

_“Don’t I know it!”_

 

***

 

It happened two days later. Honestly, Prompto was surprised it took _that_ long.

He wouldn’t exactly say that he’d spent the last forty-eight hours on high alert, twitching at every sudden movement and hunting for the source of each unexpected sound. Not at all. Nope. But he _had_ been a little more cautious as he went about his daily routine, as if that was going to help him in the long run. He kept his conversations with Noctis more lighthearted and shied away from asking too many questions about life at the Citadel, the insidious little voice in his brain whispering to him that he should avoid any accusations of spying on top of everything else.

Much to Prompto’s relief, Noctis didn’t bring up the background check again and Prompto didn’t ask. In his opinion, the sooner they got back to normal, the better.

Unfortunately, that didn’t look like it was going to happen anytime soon. Despite the texts they’d exchanged, which neither of them had mentioned afterward, there was a sort of brittleness to their interactions over the next couple of days that only set Prompto even more on edge. Their smiles were somehow dimmer, and for all that Noctis had opened up to him in the last two weeks, it seemed to take him just as much effort now as it had back at the beginning to hold a full conversation. Their texts were fewer and further between, and the time they spent on _King’s Knight_ failed to piss off his chamberlain with its excess anymore.

The worst part was that Prompto couldn’t figure out whose fault it was. Deep down, he suspected it was his—he knew that keeping his distance from Noctis like it might change what his guards found in that stupid background check was doing more harm than good. Still, he couldn’t stop his traitorous mind from dwelling on the fact that Noctis didn’t _have_ to shut down or pull away.

Which led him to wondering if Noctis already _knew_.

Prompto was starting to consider building a house on square one—he was spending an awful lot of time there anyway.

It was a sign of how truly exhausted he was from the constant worrying that he didn’t notice the car earlier. When he did, he thought for sure he was having a heart attack. Prompto could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen any fancy cars in his neck of the woods, but this one put them all to shame. Sleek and black, it was polished so thoroughly that Prompto could see his reflection in the paint well before it pulled up beside him. The windows were tinted so that the passengers were invisible, which always made him nervous; he couldn’t help but think of those old gangster movies where you could never see inside the cars and probably didn’t want to.

The diplomatic tags in the sophisticated silver bracket didn’t do much to quell that reaction. In fact, he stopped dead in his tracks with his heart skipping along faster than a racing chocobo when a guy in a black uniform got out of the back.

By now, Prompto was pretty familiar with how the Crownsguard looked. They’d followed him and Noctis around on enough of their arcade runs that he could spot them in a crowd. For one thing, they were dressed in either all black or black with some silver; when he’d asked Noctis about it, noting that the prince’s wardrobe often shared the same color scheme, the latter explained that it was a sign of service to the royal family. Anybody could wear black, though, so there was something beyond that. It was the way they carried themselves, like they’d been trained to kill and wanted to make sure you were aware of it before you decided to test their abilities. That generic threat had ceased to scare Prompto (much), but it was always there.

These guys had it in spades, although they looked nothing like the guards that had accompanied Noctis after school. They had dispensed with the business-casual suits and were instead dressed in the full garb of…whatever station they held. The only recognizable characteristic was the color—long black coat, knee-high black boots, and silver shirts beneath. Everything else was almost eerily formal.

Suddenly, the guards that had carted him away in his dreams seemed _so_ unprofessional.

“Prompto Argentum,” the guard—or assassin or whatever—addressed him. It was a little discomfiting that he wasn’t really _asking_.

“Uh…yeah?”

“Your presence has been requested at the Citadel.”

Requested. That made it sound so nice, like he could just tell them _nah, it’s been a long day, gotta get home_. _Totally_ didn’t seem like they would chase him down if he tried to make a run for it. Not at all.

That didn’t stop him from considering it for just _one_ second, though.

It was probably better to cooperate, however, just in case that would get him some time off for good behavior (not likely) or a quick and painless death (slightly more likely). So, with a reluctant nod, Prompto slipped into the backseat and tried not to flinch when the door slammed shut behind him.

If he thought their first encounter was bad, it was _nothing_ compared to the awkward silence that settled in around them as they drove off towards the Citadel. The guard who originally approached him sat to his right, staring straight ahead and pretending that he wasn’t watching Prompto’s every move out of the corner of his eye. The one in the front seat was at least a little more subtle about it: he would check the mirror every couple of minutes, his eyes scanning over Prompto momentarily as they surveyed the traffic.

It felt like he was under arrest. For all he knew, maybe he was. Did they have to read you your rights if you were an enemy of the state? Did you even _have_ any rights if you were an enemy of the state?

_I didn’t do anything wrong_ , Prompto reminded himself with a tremulous breath as he watched the city fly by around them. _They can’t arrest me if I didn’t do anything wrong._

His meager mantra allowed him to make it to the Citadel without freaking out, but the moment they were within view, he couldn’t help the way his jaw fell open in awe. He’d never been this close before, nor had he ever expected to drive through the gates and enter the main courtyard. Now if only it had been under better circumstances…

The car rolled right up to the impressive front steps, where two similarly dressed guards were waiting when the door opened. Prompto didn’t recognize them either, but at least the one on the right seemed to be _trying_ not to intimidate him. Too late, but points for trying.

“If you’ll come with us, please,” she told him with a curt nod. “The Marshal is waiting in his office.”

Without another word, they set off up the steps with the expectation that he would follow. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter—the guard who’d sat with him prodded him forward with a pointed glare.

The lobby of the Citadel was just as amazing as the outside, adorned with ancient pillars that looked just as new as the modern lighting fixtures and furnishings. There were desks on either side of the main walkway, where busy attendants were managing lines of civilians and filing paperwork. Prompto tried to catch a quick glimpse of the building maps as they walked by, but his escort was moving too quickly for him to see much more than a basic outline.

The elevator banks were situated down a short corridor on the far side of the lobby, and one of the guards paused to casually press the _up_ button as if they weren’t standing in the most important building in all of Lucis. They probably spent so much time here that it stopped feeling special after a while, but Prompto couldn’t imagine walking in and _not_ gawking at everything. There was so much—filigree twisted intricately on the floors, plaques and artwork decorating the walls, artistically crafted balconies branching off into various offices. If Prompto wasn’t being brought here for probably the worst possible reason, he would have wished he had his camera. He _still_ kinda wished he did.

_Priorities, Prompto._

“So…” he began once the four of them were crowded into the otherwise empty elevator. “Who’s the Marshal?”

The female guard with the less severe gaze glanced at him for a moment and briskly explained, “Marshal Cor Leonis. He oversees the Crownsguard.”

_Holy shit._

Cor Leonis. More popularly referred to as _Cor the Immortal_.

Oh, yeah. He was so far beyond screwed that they’d have to invent a new word for it.

Cor Leonis was just as much a legend as the war between the Astrals, and a far more popular one at that. There were so many stories about him—that he’d joined the Crownsguard at the age of thirteen, that he’d bested everyone else and become one of King Mors’s most capable bodyguards by the time he was as old as Prompto, that he’d encountered creatures of myth and miraculously come back alive. No one really knew the true extent of his awesomeness, but one thing was certain: he was the person you _didn’t_ want to get called in to see.

That thought alone was enough to keep Prompto from asking any more questions. All he could do was trail along dejectedly behind his escort as they exited the elevator and led him down a frighteningly long corridor.

Was it getting dark in here? He was pretty sure it was getting dark in here.

And someone had definitely turned up the heat, because he was practically _melting_.

If it were possible, Prompto would have been a puddle on the floor by the time they stopped outside a plain door at the end of the hall. Two of the guards stepped forward to stand on either side of the entrance while the third knocked twice. A voice called for her to enter, and she stepped calmly inside. Prompto didn’t hear what she said, but after the span of a heartbeat, she was stepping aside and jerking her head for him to move.

His feet shuffled forward without his permission, dragging him inside the office under the slightly sympathetic gaze of the guard. It gave him a little bit of comfort to know that maybe not _everyone_ hated him, although there was the possibility that she had no idea why he was there.

Yeah, that was probably it, because the guy on the other side of the room was staring at Prompto as though he’d sooner decapitate him than question him.

_Oh, this is already going great._

“You are Prompto Argentum,” the man stated after a moment of tense silence broken only by the click of the closing door. Prompto was uncomfortably aware of how loud his gulp was.

“Y-Yes…uh, sir.”

He nodded. “I am Cor Leonis, Marshal of the Citadel. Have a seat.”

For the first time, Prompto realized that there was a chair situated right in front of the desk, and he rushed to put his butt in it while the Marshal was still in what he figured was a good mood. All the stories he’d heard painted a picture of the Marshal as being intolerant of incompetence and quick to act when he needed to, so the fact that he was at least offering Prompto an opportunity to sit was probably a huge gift. Given the circumstances.

Prompto didn’t know if he should be grateful or cringe when the Marshal didn’t waste even a moment before getting straight to business.

“Do you know why you are here?”

_Yes._

“Not…not really,” he lied with a halfhearted shrug. There was still a tiny, microscopic part of him that hoped this was all one big misunderstanding and they _weren’t_ dragging him here for the reason he thought they were, but it was fading fast the longer he stared into those intensely judgmental eyes.

The Marshal waited a moment before he almost accusingly said, “You have made quite an impression on Prince Noctis.”

That was…one way of putting it. Prompto just hoped it was a _good_ impression rather than the psycho-stalker kind.

“I mean, we’re friends ‘n’ stuff…”

“Indeed. I assume that you have been made aware of what a friendship with the Crown entails?”

“Kind of?”

If it were possible for the Marshal to look any _more_ unimpressed, Prompto would have been surprised. As it happened, he stared at Prompto the same way half of his teachers did: like he was trying his best but it just wasn’t good enough. Actually, the Marshal skipped the _trying his best_ part and went straight for the inadequacy. No surprises there.

“Third parties who maintain a personal involvement with members of the royal family must subject themselves to a thorough background check to obtain the appropriate security clearance.”

Prompto frowned and unintentionally blurted out, “Security clearance?”

“To spend a great deal of time with the prince means that you will be privy to certain information, whether intentionally or otherwise,” explained the Marshal patiently. “It is unavoidable in day to day contact. As such, a minimal security clearance will be required in order for you to continue your… _friendship_ with Prince Noctis.”

Well, that definitely answered a lot of questions. Prompto didn’t really know what they thought Noctis would tell him, though; in the last two weeks, they’d talked more about school and video games than anything having to do with Noctis’s royal duties. All he knew was that the prince lived in the Citadel despite hunting for an apartment all to himself, trained to use weapons, and could barely be bothered to get out of bed to do either unless his chamberlain forced him. All in all, it didn’t really strike Prompto as the sort of thing he needed security clearance for.

He wasn’t going to question it, though. Not when it already looked like the Marshal wasn’t exactly on his side.

“The guards who escorted you to the Citadel and everyone you saw when you arrived had to be screened using the same process. Some of them were more highly scrutinized than others based on the position for which they were being considered. However, in all the years that I have served the royal family of Lucis, none of them has ever presented the same mystery as you.”

“M-Mystery?” Prompto totally didn’t squeak.

“Yes,” confirmed the Marshal while sliding a black folder across the desk towards him. “Place of birth—unknown. Birth parents—unknown. It is almost as if your entire existence began in infancy with nothing preceding it.”

Prompto couldn’t hide his flinch at the summary of his life that had always been lacking. As far as he was concerned, that was basically all there was anyway. His parents—his adoptive parents—were all he’d ever known. Even they didn’t have a whole lot of information, and anytime Prompto had asked, the only thing they would say was that he was born far away in the place Lucians didn’t like to talk about. Hell, they wouldn’t even tell him how they found out _that_ much.

If the Marshal noticed his trepidation, it didn’t keep him from continuing, “Our best analysts have scoured every record available and were unable to locate a birth registration for any _Prompto Argentum_ in Lucis dating back one hundred years. Officials in Accordo were similarly stymied.”

_Aaaaaand here it comes…_

“It isn’t often Lucis plays host to citizens of Niflheim.”

Closing his eyes, Prompto ducked his head so that he wouldn’t have to witness firsthand the look of scorn that had to be coming his way. He was subjected to it all the time: the way people watched the news, their noses turned up and their eyes squinted at _Niffs_. There was always some snide remark that came after, usually directed at the government but plenty of people weren’t picky about who got caught in the crossfire. They’d never taken aim at him personally, but every comment struck him just as deeply as it would have if they did.

Prompto had spent his entire life keeping his head down so that no one noticed that there was anything different about him. Now, to have it all laid out before him like he was supposed to have control over where he was born… It made him feel exposed in ways he’d never realized he could.

The office around them waited in silence for the hammer to drop—for the Marshal to forbid him to see Noctis again, to tell him he had been transferred to another school, to order the guards outside to take Prompto to some interrogation chamber he’d never escape from. Maybe the utter hopelessness of the situation was what made him speak up, even if he regretted it the moment the words sank into the upholstery of his suddenly uncomfortable chair.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

The Marshal raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t react. Instead he stared at Prompto with eyes that seemed to flay him alive and stretch his flesh across the walls to get a better look. It was even more unnerving than having his past dredged up from the depths of whatever hole they’d found it in. When his mouth finally opened to speak, Prompto mentally prepared himself for the fatal blow…

“Nothing.”

Silence.

Silence.

“Uh…say what now?”

Was that a smirk? That was _totally_ a smirk. The Marshal was smirking. At him. It wasn’t even a threatening smirk—it was more like one of those amused, _You’ve Gotta Be Kidding Me_ looks. That had to be good, right?

“Nothing is going to happen to you, Prompto,” the Marshal reassured him, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his desk.

Prompto couldn’t quite believe it, and his breath came in sharp, almost painful gasps. “B-But I’m… I’m a _Niff_. Isn’t that, like, against a law or something?”

With a sound that would have qualified as a chuckle if anyone else had done it, the Marshal answered, “There is no law against being born in another nation, not unless you entered the country by illegal means. Whoever left you at the orphanage where you were adopted may very well face charges should their identity ever come to light, but whatever the method by which you arrived in Lucis, it was not under your own power. I have no authority to detain you for the place of your birth, unless there is some reason you can think of as to why it might be necessary?”

“No no! Just—y’know… People aren’t so…” He trailed off, not sure how he was going to tell the Marshal who kept Lucis safe that Lucians were kinda rude.

It turned out that he didn’t have to, because the latter offered him a knowing nod before he had a chance to finish anyway. “With the current international climate, it is difficult to differentiate between enemies and those who are simply the victims of circumstance.”

Nodding, Prompto slowly guessed, “I’m the second one, right?”

“You are,” the Marshal agreed. For the first time since he got in that car, Prompto felt like he might be able to pull in a full breath again anytime now.

“And, like…you’re not gonna tell Noc— _Prince_ Noctis to stay away from me?”

“The prince is entitled to befriend whomever he pleases. The rest of your record is clean—cleaner than most other teenagers,” he added with a subtle roll of his eyes. “That being said, I see no reason to discontinue your friendship.”

It was a _really_ good thing the Citadel was so clean and unaffected by the outside world, because Prompto was positive that a passing fly would have gotten caught in the gaping hole that was his mouth otherwise. It snapped shut a moment later, though. Just as he was thinking this was too good to be true, he realized there was one thing the Marshal hadn’t explained yet.

“So…if you weren’t really worried about my whole, uh… _history_ and all,” he began with a puzzled frown, “why exactly did you bring me here—s-sir?”

Okay, so that was a stupid thing to ask. All the good humor that had been showered down upon him evaporated in an instant, and he was back to staring into a predator’s eyes. It reminded him that although he might have the blessing of the Crownsguard in hanging out with Noctis, they still weren’t people to be crossed.

“Paperwork and records can only go so far in ensuring an individual’s sincerity,” the Marshal replied, a cold edge to his voice. “The prince has cultivated few acquaintances outside of those he has made within the Citadel, as I’m sure you already know.”

_Hell of an understatement there, dude._

“If _anyone_ were to abuse the privileges granted to those who fraternize with members of the royal family, the punishment would be appropriately severe.”

…That had to be the least subtle shovel talk Prompto had ever heard in his entire life. Not that he’d ever had it directed at him, of course. The idea of him getting anywhere close to needing it was pretty hysterical at best. But he’d watched television before, so he knew the signs when he saw them.

And, fortunately, he had been preparing his answer for _years_.

“I only want to be his friend, sir. The other stuff doesn’t really matter.”

A moment of silence passed where Prompto was vacillating between pride in his conviction and embarrassment at just how cheesy it sounded. Either way, he didn’t expect it to pay off.

And that was when the Marshal—Cor the Immortal himself—actually _smiled_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only note I have for this chapter is that I find it hard to believe that after years of being friends with Noctis, NO ONE knew that he was from Niflheim. Noctis is the crown prince; it made no sense to me that they didn't screen his outside friends closely enough to realize Prompto was different. In chapter two, Cor goes out of his way to make sure that Prompto is doing all right after their battles, which gave me the impression that there was more there than just a Marshal and a guy who was supposed to protect the prince--otherwise he would have been commenting more on Prompto's technique. With that said, I considered who would be most likely to find out Prompto's background and came to this conclusion. This is what makes the most sense to me, at least, so I hope that it stays in line with canon for everyone. 
> 
> Oh, also: gratuitous Ignis appreciation is gratuitous. But Prompto likes food, so it's also believable.


	3. Moral Support

“ _Duuuuude_!”

Noct smirked but didn’t take his eyes off his comic even for a second as he replied, “You said you wanted to help.”

“That was _before_ I knew how much stuff you had to move!” whined Prompto, still sprawled out on the floor with the last— _finally!_ —box of Noct’s belongings that he’d just carted up to the prince’s new apartment. “Besides, you haven’t done _anything_!”

“That’s not true.”

Prompto shot him a skeptical glare, to which Noct rolled his eyes patiently.

“I brought up the food.”

Oh, yes. How could he have forgotten? Noct had gone to all that trouble to make sure the paper bag stuffed full of burgers and fries made it safely into the kitchen.

Prompto, on the other hand, had been in charge of pretty much everything else.

Honestly, he wasn’t really sure why he was complaining. He’d sort of volunteered, after all. Part of him still felt so bad about that whole background check freak-out thing that he’d been trying to make it up to Noct ever since. That had been easier said than done, especially since it required regaining a lot of the ground he’d lost before the Marshal had him brought to the Citadel. Where their interactions had originally been pretty casual, he found that Noctis was a little more reserved and closed off the second time around. Prompto couldn’t blame him: he _had_ put up a pretty thick brick wall.

It had taken a couple of weeks, but eventually Noct seemed to warm up again. They spent increasing amounts of time playing _King’s Knight_ the way they used to, enough so that his chamberlain was once again complaining daily; they’d even been to the arcade a couple of times in the last few weeks as well. Slowly but surely, they made it back to where they’d been before. Prompto was able to laugh freely and make a few jokes at Noct’s expense, and the prince reverted to his sarcastic barbs. After a while, he’d even offered Prompto something of a gift: getting to call him _Noct_. That wouldn’t be a big deal for most people, but for Noct, who was notorious for keeping the world at arm’s length? That was _huge_. Prompto wasn’t about to take it for granted either.

In all that time, they didn’t talk about the background check. They didn’t bring up Prompto’s meeting with Cor the Immortal because Noctis didn’t know and Prompto wasn’t telling.

Right before he’d been escorted out of the Marshal’s office, he’d somehow found the guts to ask whether the latter intended to tell Noct about what they’d discovered—or, really, _hadn’t_ discovered—in Prompto’s file.

“That is not my place,” had been his answer, and Prompto had released such a huge sigh of relief that he thought for sure he might have blown a few papers off the Marshal’s desk. “Whether you choose to divulge your history to Prince Noctis is for you to choose and you alone.”

That had been an easy decision to make—there was no way in hell he was going to tell Noct about being a Niff. It wasn’t like it mattered! The Crownsguard wasn’t worried about it, so there really wasn’t any reason for Prompto to be. What difference was it going to make if Noctis knew, anyway? At best, he wouldn’t care and it would be water under the bridge; at worst, he’d flip his lid and they’d never speak again and all his hard work would have been wasted.

So…yeah. That was one secret he was going to take to his grave. Further, actually—he was gonna bury it so deep that even the most dedicated grave robbers would never find it. And, if he was lucky, he’d never have to think about it again.

“Uh…earth to Prompto?”

Prompto jerked back into the present, his eyes snapping open when he hadn’t realized they’d closed. He felt that instant disorientation that came from having taken the quickest nap _ever_ and groaned, digging his fists into his eyes.

“I’m becoming _you_.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I’m falling asleep in the middle of the day,” teased Prompto. He’d never really been one for naps—he usually had too much energy—but he was wiped out from all the moving.

Everything had already been loaded up into a nondescript truck at the Citadel, driven around the city a few times to throw off anyone who might be watching, and parked outside Noct’s new apartment building well before Prompto had shown up. The movers, all of whom Prompto harbored the suspicion were actually Crownsguard members dressed in civilian attire, had brought up the heavy stuff—furniture and appliances, mostly. After that, Prompto had helped them with the plethora of boxes that seemed to have no end.

Seriously, he couldn’t see the back of the truck for at least two hours, and they’d still had _more_ to grab at that point as well.

Eventually, when there were only a couple of boxes left that were easily picked up from the lobby, the “movers” had given him a quick nod and departed with the truck. That left him to bring up the rest of Noct’s stuff because—wouldn’t you know it?—the prince hadn’t done a _thing_. Well, okay, _by comparison_. He’d grabbed a couple of smaller boxes, particularly the ones marked _DO NOT OPEN_ that Prompto assumed must have his personal effects. Other than that, though, he’d spent most of the day lounging on the couch reading through some old comics. Oh, and taunting Prompto—he’d done a lot of that, too.

Prompto had even caught him snoozing a few times and lamented the fact that nothing was unpacked yet. If he could just find some whipped cream and a feather…

“I don’t fall asleep in the middle of the day,” scoffed Noct, propping his comic up in front of his face again like that would hide his _lie_.

“Uh huh,” snorted Prompto. “Dude, the teacher had to call on you _three times_ in history the other day before you woke up.”

“Did not.”

“Totally did.”

“Maybe that’s because I just didn’t hear her.”

“She was standing right over your desk. _Literally_.”

Noct grumbled something unintelligible, and Prompto knew he’d won this battle. Sure enough, it only took a moment before the prince tossed his comic on the coffee table in defeat and stood up, stretching out the kinks he’d had to endure from all the strenuous sitting.

That Prompto should have such problems.

“Anyway, if you’re done complaining,” His Royal _Laziness_ began with a sarcastic smirk, “we should probably unpack the kitchen stuff before Ignis shows up.”

All the exhaustion that had been weighing down Prompto’s muscles evaporated instantly, and he shot upright to gape at Noct where he was sifting through the contents of a box on the kitchen counter. “Ignis is coming?”

The prince nodded distractedly, extracting what looked more fitting for a torture chamber than a kitchen and shrugging as he tossed it into a drawer at random. “Yeah, he wanted to make sure I was settled in. He’ll probably make dinner while he’s here, so I figure it’s better not to give him a reason to get on my case for not having things ready by then.”

_Of course…_

Prompto already knew that Ignis cooked for Noct; the amazing creations that came out of his lunchbox were apparently his chamberlain’s specialties. Still, when Noct invited him over for a pseudo-housewarming party (because it was really just a moving party dressed up as getting dinner out of the gig—no one could say the prince wasn’t a talented politician, _that_ was for sure), he just hadn’t given it a thought that there would be anyone else there besides them. He’d assumed that maybe they’d order a couple of pizzas and sit around playing _King’s Knight_ until way too late. If he’d known he was going to be meeting one of the most important people in Noct’s life or service or whatever, he probably would have worn something better than a pair of ripped jeans and a T-shirt.

_Sooo…his chamberlain’s totally gonna think I’m a slob._

Prompto took another look at Noct, who was hardly dressed any better and currently trying to see how many hand towels he could possibly shove into a drawer without it refusing to close.

_…Okay, maybe he’s used to it._

The next hour was spent jamming all the utensils and plates and cookware and stuff they couldn’t even _identify_ much less use into every available space they could find. There wasn’t really any rhyme or reason to it: the silverware was dumped in with the potholders, and plates were stacked alongside the pots and pans. The stuff that really stumped them got a place of honor in the drawer furthest from the stove—out of sight, out of mind and all that. By the time they were finished, Prompto was fairly positive that they’d never be able to find everything again, but at least it was all put away. If Ignis was anything like Noct described, he couldn’t be more than fifty percent disappointed. …Maybe.

As it happened, they found out sooner than he was prepared for. Noct’s phone pinged with a text that said Ignis would _be up momentarily_ —because apparently people from the Citadel talked all fancy and stuff—which left them just enough time to slam all the open cabinets shut and dive onto the sofa right as someone knocked on the door.

Noct, surprisingly, rolled his eyes and called, “Ignis, you have a key. You don’t need to knock.”

There was a moment of stubborn silence before the lock clicked and a voice adorned with a sophisticated accent announced, “Although it was our agreement that your security detail would have access to your apartment at all times, I _would_ prefer to offer you as much privacy as possible, Noct.”

Prompto could have laughed at that. As he and Noct had rekindled the friendship he’d dumped a bucket of ice water on a few weeks ago, he’d begun to learn a little more about what living the royal life was all about, just as the Marshal had said. Really, it didn’t sound all that glamorous. The king was constantly in the news for one thing or another, and even though Noct’s appearances were way less frequent, he popped up every now and again on the cover of a magazine or in an online article about some event he’d been present for. Apparently there was some deal between the king and the press that they would leave Noct alone to live a relatively normal life and, in exchange, he would ensure that they were provided with special places at all state functions. It meant that, for the most part, Noct was out of the limelight when it came to the public, but the Crownsguard? Yeah, that was a whole different story.

They were _everywhere_. Half the apartments in the building were actually rented out to the Crownsguard so that they could have eyes on Noct’s doors and windows at all hours of the day and night. Prompto had noticed fancy black cars stationed at either side of the street when he’d arrived, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that they were filled with guys in dark suits whose whole lives revolved around making sure no one tried to off the crown prince of Lucis.

Needless to say, the idea of _privacy_ was kind of a joke.

Still, it was nice of Ignis to make an attempt, and Prompto leaned over the back of the couch to grin at him appreciatively only to freeze in place half a second later.

Because what. The. Hell.

Noct hadn’t said much about Ignis aside from three things: he was smart, he was a good cook, and he was a pain in the ass when it came to letting the prince do whatever he wanted. The last one was to be expected, even if Prompto would never point that out to Noctis—he _was_ an advisor, after all, so it sort of went with the territory that he would guide Noct _away_ from doing anything stupid.

What Noct _hadn’t_ mentioned was that the guy was some kind of male-model-meets-business-tycoon.

Was there a minimum requirement for how good looking you had to be in order to get a job at the Citadel? Because it _totally_ seemed like there was! Ignis was much taller than either Noct or Prompto, with his sandy brown hair parted neatly to the side and sharp glasses that brought out the natural angles of his face. Like the rest of the Crownsguard, he carried himself in a way that spoke of training and discipline, although he went a step further into sophisticated, debonair territory. His suit was tailored and neatly pressed so that wrinkles probably ran screaming for their lives; the creases of his slacks were so sharp that they looked like they could kill a man with one kick.

And his green eyes zeroed in on Prompto so fast that he _almost_ hid under the couch. Which was silly, because there was no way he’d fit under there at all. Nope.

The table, on the other hand…

“Ignis, this is Prompto,” Noct’s unaffected voice cut into his troubled thoughts a moment later. When Prompto turned to look over his shoulder at him, the prince was firmly rooted behind his comic book once again and waved a hand vaguely in their general direction. “Prompto, Ignis.”

Prompto had to give the guy credit—he didn’t automatically turn his nose up at the homeless person chic Prompto was currently rocking. Instead he nodded his head once in greeting and replied, “A pleasure to meet you, Prompto.”

Swallowing his nerves, Prompto just as eloquently stammered, “Uh…y-yeah. Likewise…”

_Nailed it._

Or not. Noctis was peering at him over the top of his book with a questioning expression, and Prompto could only shrug in response. How was he supposed to say that his friend’s lifestyle unnerved him to the point of sheer panic? And it wasn’t even _that_ , if he was being honest with himself. Noct’s life didn’t bother him; he was pretty normal when you got past the occasional complaints about having to go to some dinner that only the most powerful people in the city were invited to or the more frequent grumblings about weapons training. Now that Noct had moved out of the Citadel, Prompto expected that those moments would be even fewer, enough so that they would probably be pretty easy to ignore.

No, it wasn’t the royal lifestyle. It was the people who came with it. So far, he seemed to be going for broke on meeting every intimidating person the Citadel had to offer.

There were the Crownsguard suits with their sharp eyes and judging expressions.

There was the Marshal with his stern glare and steadfast devotion to protecting both Noct and the king.

And now there was Ignis, who was exactly the kind of best friend Prompto would expect Noct to have and absolutely _nothing_ like Prompto at all. Not for the first time, he had to wonder what it was he was doing here when he so obviously didn’t belong.

It only got worse when Ignis started unloading the paper shopping bag Prompto hadn’t even noticed him carrying and began puttering about the kitchen to make dinner. He aimed a few rebukes in Noct’s direction about the state of his cabinets—while simultaneously reorganizing everything even as he kept the food from burning, of course—and asked about whether he’d finished his schoolwork. Even though he was only supposed to be a couple of years older than them, it seemed like Ignis had swallowed every dictionary, encyclopedia, and (apparently) cookbook in existence. How the hell was he _real_?

The _only_ stroke of luck was that Prompto wasn’t expected to make an idiot of himself by doing any more talking. Ignis would occasionally ask him about how school was going for him (eh, not being the head of the class didn’t bother him) and how his parents were doing (somewhere between _don’t know_ and _don’t care_ , he lied to himself as always). Otherwise, as if sensing his borderline distress, Ignis left him alone. So did Noct, although Prompto couldn’t tell if that was because the prince recognized that he felt uncomfortable or if he was just too engrossed in his comic. Probably a mixture of both.

Either way, he clearly didn’t realize that his presence was the only thing keeping Prompto on an even keel, because he dozed off on the couch almost immediately after they finished what had to be the _single most amazing dinner_ Prompto had ever had in his entire life. Seriously, he’d never really eaten fancy food and highly doubted that this counted, but man.

He just.

There were no words.

While Noct would have access to the magic that only the Lucis Caelum line could inherit, Prompto was growing suspicious that Ignis must have a different kind of supernatural power when it came to flavoring food. There was simply no way anyone could make vegetables—the ones Noct pointedly shoved to the side of his plate—taste so good.

Prompto may have complimented Ignis on that a few times. …Possibly a few too _many_ times. Whatever.

It had to be the food high that made Prompto carry his and Noct’s plates into the kitchen, where Ignis was currently scrubbing out the dirtied pan. That was the only explanation for why he decided to do anything other than stay as far away from the guy who was giving him a _serious_ inferiority complex as possible.

Oh, and he opened his mouth, too.

“Thanks a lot for dinner, Ignis,” he said for probably the five thousandth time. He was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining the way Ignis’s lips turned up at one side.

“Once again, you are most welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it so thoroughly.”

“Definitely! You don’t get food like this at my house.”

Well, he really didn’t get much of _any_ food at his house. His parents made sure everything was fully stocked, but ever since he stopped eating the fast food they usually left for him when he was a kid, they hadn’t bothered to see to it that he’d gotten a cooked meal on more than special occasions. He wasn’t too bad at throwing something together, usually using a mixture of raw vegetables and whatever he was positive wouldn’t explode in the microwave, but it wasn’t the same as having a homecooked meal by the prince’s chamberlain himself.

Ignis didn’t need to know that, however, nor was he able to guess if the way he hummed pleasantly was anything to go by. “Come now,” he murmured with a satisfied smirk, “it’s nothing special.”

Snorting, Prompto shot back, “Dude, that’s what _you_ think.”

And that was when he froze. Because he was talking to someone who could probably kill him with the ladle he was washing as if they were friends. There wasn’t a pretty ending to that, at least not that Prompto could see.

So, clearing his throat awkwardly, Prompto tried to steer himself back onto a more appropriate course and asked shyly, “So…how long have you been working for Noct?”

“It’s been well over a decade now,” Ignis answered as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Yeah. Just a decade of living in the fanciest palace and serving the most powerful family in Lucis. Uh-huh. No biggie.

Prompto blinked. “Wow, that’s… That’s, like, for _ever_.”

“Indeed. I can hardly remember a time before I had Noct to look after.”

As he said it, Ignis glanced over at where the prince was sprawled gracelessly on the couch with his mouth hanging open while he slept. Despite the unattractive sight _that_ made, his chamberlain wore a fond smile that made him look a lot younger than he’d seemed when he walked in the door a couple of hours ago. It also spoke volumes about their relationship beyond that of just prince and chamberlain—Prompto could see the affection Ignis had for Noct in his eyes, and it warmed his heart even if he felt a little more outside the loop than before as a result. This was a guy who’d been with Noct through thick and thin ever since they were little kids. Prompto didn’t have that. Not with Noct, not with _anyone_.

 _All that’s gonna change_ , he vowed with only slightly forced resolve. _I’m not going anywhere—not now, not ever. I’m gonna be here for Noct no matter what, just like Ignis._

 

***

 

There were lots of things about losing weight that Prompto hated with a passion. For one thing, you could never eat whatever you wanted. Well, you _could_ , but it meant extra work to make sure that it didn’t show. He already ran every morning, but for each sweet he indulged in or extra carb he ingested, he had to add a mile to his already extensive route. That wasn’t even counting the adjustments he had to make to his diet for the next few days just to counteract that _one_ mistake, which always tasted _sooo_ right that he could hardly stand to call it that. But it was. It _was_.

That wasn’t the only crappy thing about it, though. Not getting to eat what you wanted and exercising to burn off anything extra was definitely a pain, but he did it gladly for the results it provided. He felt more confident in his body now than he ever had, regardless of the amount of hard work he put into it. Actually, that might have been part of the reason—knowing that his appearance was the direct result of his own efforts was actually pretty gratifying most of the time. But all that resolve, all that hard work weighed him down as if what he’d lost had congealed into some sort of psychological barbell every time he watched Noct eat.

And eat.

And _eat_.

Seriously, what the hell? The guy was the crown prince of Lucis, but he could pack it away like a foreigner chowing down on city food before they inevitably had to head back to their own town. And it never seemed to matter _what_ he put in his stomach—pizza, burgers, rice balls, chocolate, ten types of _anything but vegetables_ —he _never_ seemed to gain any weight. His slim figure never altered, and it left Prompto hovering somewhere between amazement and utter jealously.

Why couldn’t _he_ be like that? Why did _he_ have to try so hard?

Those were the questions that plagued him every time he popped a piece of sushi into his mouth or swallowed the last bite of his burger when Noct wheedled him into breaking his diet. He’d huff them under his breath, or what was left of it, on his extended runs that were so long they almost made him late for school.

They’d almost rolled off his tongue to Ignis one night when the latter had cooked them dinner once again and they were watching Noct down five small pastries as if they were breath mints. However, he’d managed to temper his irritation at the last minute and altered his question to something a little less bitter.

“How does he do it?” Prompto had asked, jaw slack as Noct polished off his last pastry and reached for a sixth. Ignis shook his head, his expression too exasperated for him to be at all surprised.

“One day,” he’d replied under his breath, raising an eyebrow in warning as Noct seemed to contemplate whether or not he was _actually_ full or just needed to burp. “One day, it will catch up with him.”

So far, that day was nowhere in sight. That wasn’t true for Prompto, though. Since he’d become friends with Noct only a couple of months earlier, he’d put on some weight. It was no big deal, just a couple of pounds, but it still made him anxious. There was nothing _wrong_ with being bigger, per se, but he had promised himself he’d never go back to being that person—that shy, antisocial, _ashamed_ person who felt alienated from everyone else because of his appearance. The slight shift in his weight wasn’t enough to send him careening into a mad food binge that would leave him right back where he started, and yet…

And yet…

“Hey…Ignis?”

Prompto gulped down his fear as bespectacled eyes rose to survey him curiously, second guessing himself. After all, why the hell would Ignis give a shit about his stupid self-consciousness over his weight? It wasn’t like Prompto was his responsibility the way Noct was. He had absolutely no reason to help.

But Prompto was nothing if not a sucker for punishment—just ask all the people he passed on his jogs—so he pressed on.

“You, uh… You know a lot about food.”

_…Duh._

Ignis seemed to have the same thought and raised an eyebrow in lieu of an actual answer. This was already going just swell.

Fighting the urge to make some excuse and run, Prompto forced himself to continue, “And…you said you keep pretty close tabs on, like…what Noct eats…and stuff…"

Much to his surprise, Ignis snorted gently. It wasn’t often that his collected exterior broke ranks on him, but when Prompto glanced up from where he’d been examining the carpet, he caught the tail end of what had to be some major eye rolling.

“I attempt to manage His Highness’s nourishment, yes,” he amended sardonically. “Given his aversion to all things grown in the ground, however, I doubt that my success has been substantial.”

Prompto couldn’t help smiling a little. That definitely wasn’t wrong. No matter how many times he joined Noct for dinners prepared by his chamberlain specially for him, one thing never changed: he wouldn’t so much as _touch_ the vegetables. Sometimes, he even scooted them right into the center of Prompto’s plate as if Ignis wouldn’t recognize that one of them had suddenly sprouted a second helping without even reaching for the bowl.

“At least you try,” Prompto attempted to console him, much to Ignis’s seeming amusement.

“If there is only one area in which I fail at my duties as Noct’s chamberlain, I suppose there are worse possibilities.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “That’s for sure.”

“In any case, is there a reason why you ask?”

And there went that block of ice straight into the pit of his stomach. What a way to ruin the mood, but then again, Prompto couldn’t exactly blame Ignis. He’d been the one to open his stupid mouth, and now he’d have to deal with the fallout.

Cringing a little at his own dumb idea to broach the subject, Prompto stuttered, “Uh, yeah… Well… Y’see, I was kinda… I mean, what I was _gonna_ ask… If you don’t mind or anythi—“

“Perhaps you would like for me to assist you in organizing your own nutritional regimen?” inquired Ignis mildly, not bothering to look up from where he was slicing Lucian tomatoes in his millionth soon-to-be failed attempt at getting Noct to snack healthier.

_Okay, add mind reader to the list of things that totally creep me out about this guy…_

Prompto gaped at Ignis for a moment before he was able to restart his brain enough to lamely reply, “Uh… I… Well, yeah…”

All business, Ignis didn’t even hesitate. “Very well, then. I will need accurate measures of your current weight, height, and body composition. Should you not have that information readily available, I would recommend that we utilize the facilities at the Citadel as the equipment there will provide the most accurate recording. After that, I can develop a list of safe foods, daily requirements, and occasional indulgences that will help you to maintain an appropriate physical fitness level.”

Somewhere in the midst of all those words, Prompto’s brain had shorted out. He knew it was rude—or he would have if his conscious mind were currently online, which it wasn’t—but the first thing he could think to say was, “You’ll really help me?”

“Of course,” answered Ignis, sincere and utterly unaware of just how big a deal this was.

“But… But _why?_ ” he choked out. Prompto would have thought he was dreaming all this and was about to wake up in his bed with the same insecurities that always haunted his mealtimes, but the brief flash of sympathy in Ignis’s gaze brought him up short.

“Because you are Noct’s friend,” he explained quietly, casting a glance at the prince’s closed door. Noct had reluctantly retreated to take a shower after Ignis had forced him to assist in cleaning up the mess he called an apartment ( _“Ugh… I feel all sticky and gross.”_ ), and the latter must have realized that Prompto had waited to have this conversation for a reason.

Ignis paused to ensure they wouldn’t be interrupted before he soberly continued, “Noct has never had a friend outside of those he interacts with at the Citadel, with the exception of Lady Lunafreya. When he told me that he had met someone he got along with at school... I must admit, I was quite surprised. It was pleasing news, however. Noct desperately needed someone in whom he could confide, someone who was not a party to all that goes on within the government. It is a role that I am unable to fulfil for him,” he quietly admitted, and Prompto felt a pang of sadness at the disappointment Ignis exuded.

It passed in the blink of an eye, and then the mask of the staid chamberlain was firmly back in place. “Your presence had been beneficial to Noct in many ways. As my duty is to ensure that His Highness has all he needs in every regard, I consider it an extension of that responsibility to assist you.”

Nodding slowly, Prompto managed a shy smile as he murmured, “Thanks. That’s… Thanks.”

“You are most welcome.”

A minute passed in silence, and Prompto found that he definitely needed it. This was a step he hadn’t thought they’d take—not into _friendship_ , really, but something along those lines. He and Ignis had a shared goal: to help Noct. That made them more than acquaintances…right?

As if to answer his question, Ignis suddenly strode around the kitchen island and came to a stop before him, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. When Prompto raised his chin to meet Ignis’s gaze, he found a reassuring smile waiting for him.

“To serve royalty is a burden,” Ignis observed in the practiced recitation of someone who had heard those words far too often. “A lifetime of service is not enough to prepare you for all things. You have been good for Noct. If it is within my power to see to it that you remain a constant in his life, I shall. Those of us who shoulder this burden must bolster one another, as well.”

By the time Noct emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, his hair still wet and a confused frown pulling down his lips at the sight of Ignis and Prompto cleaning the kitchen together, Prompto felt he had a better understanding of the people he’d been so worried were going to oust him as some kind of freak show. He definitely wasn’t on the same level as Ignis or the Marshal—he wasn’t super smart, and he totally didn’t have it in him to be some kind of warrior legend. Yet there was one thing all of them shared, and it just so happened to be the string that tied them all together in a bond that was much stronger than Prompto ever would have imagined.

It also happened to be complaining that they had a boss to beat in _King’s Knight_ while Prompto was busy _playing housewife_ —which, excuse him, was _so_ not right—but they wouldn’t talk about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter! Prompto decided not to talk to me for a while there, so I hope this is up to par. Anyway, some notes:
> 
> 1) The line, "To serve royalty is a burden," is from my other fic in this series, "Royal Burdens."  
> 2) I've seen some talk about Ignis shaming Prompto in the game when he suggests they get food from the Crow's Nest only for Ignis to remark on putting on weight. I considered Ignis's character a lot and the motives he would have for such a statement, and I came to two conclusions. First, Ignis is nothing if not utilitarian. The guide points out that he began working on his physique so that he could put the plans he would one day create with Noct into action, so he strikes me as the kind of person who values physical fitness as a job requirement more than an aesthetic attribute. Second, Ignis has one very dry sense of humor (which I love about him, personally). A gentle tease about putting on weight wouldn't be out of place, at least not in my opinion. Since Prompto isn't very surprised or insulted by it, I thought perhaps it had happened before. Thus was this chapter born.  
> 3) The level of security around Noct's apartment was something that we didn't see in "Brotherhood" but I always assumed was there. After all, who would let the crown prince live in some random apartment building with no guards on the place? Answer: no one.  
> 4) "Ugh, I feel all sticky and gross," is a quote from the game when you get to havens. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and your feedback! :)


	4. Hidden Talents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. Wow. So the number of hits this got literally doubled with the last chapter. Thank you so much for reading!!!

This was _nuts_.

Genuinely, positively, inescapably insane.

Prompto stumbled to a stop, leaning heavily on his knees and heaving in gulps of breath as though he might never taste the sweet smell of the city’s pollution ever again. His last lap had been difficult enough with his aching feet and stinging calves; this one was sheer torture. There was no way he would make his time limit, but he couldn’t even motivate himself to _care_ because he was just so damn _tired_! Why the hell did he agree to this anyway!?

Oh, yeah. Because otherwise he was going to gain so much weight that he’d have to _waddle_ to the arcade from now on.

That thought wasn’t enough to get him running again—it was more of a spirited limp, if he had to call it anything. It was the best he was going to manage today, though, so he tried not to make himself feel too bad about it.

Despite Prompto’s constant complaining, Ignis really did know what he was talking about when it came to nutrition and had given up a great deal of his personal time to make good on his promise to help Prompto stay in shape. He just…hadn’t realized quite what that would entail. There were measurements to be taken and tests to do, and all that came before they got anywhere _near_ making menus and fitness regimens for him to follow on a daily basis. Prompto kept pointing out that he didn’t need _all that_ when he simply wanted to make sure that he stayed in shape, but Ignis insisted that _anything worth doing is worth doing well_. Or, in Ignis-ese, go big or go home.

They were definitely going big, all right.

It had been a few months since he’d asked Noct’s professional _everything_ for his help, and Prompto had stuck to Ignis’s plans like a cat fighting for the last scrap of dead mouse. …Okay, that made it sound super gross, but it wasn’t all that different when you considered just how much sweat pooled in Prompto’s socks by the time he got home. That wasn’t even mentioning the stench of his clothes or the unidentified clumps of _something_ that always seemed to get caught in his shoes for him to discover when he’d finished his daily exercises.

But he was getting ahead of himself. _Let’s start from the beginning…_

Prompto woke up at the same ungodly hour every morning. It was even worse than what he had been doing before, especially on days when he had to be at school on time. The sun itself had practically started taunting him for his early hours, so he was pretty sure _that_ had to be saying something. Still, Ignis liked to believe that rising well before dawn was the best way to ensure that you _achieve the maximum productive capacity within the span of each day_. Of course, that wasn’t accounting for the fact that Prompto collapsed much earlier every night and therefore still lost that time somewhere, but he would let Ignis live in his delusions.

Once he was conscious enough to be considered functional, Prompto went on his runs. They weren’t like the old ones, though: Ignis had been sure to mark a number of routes for Prompto to take and assigned them to various days of the week. Apparently, you weren’t supposed to do the same thing over and over. That was a no-no in _The Super Citadel Bodybuilding Cosmogony_. Shaking it up kept his body from getting too used to one routine; that way, he would focus on various sets of muscles each time. That all _sounded_ great in theory. In practice, it totally sucked. Instead of sticking to his usual path, which was a fairly leisurely route through the center of the city, Ignis was sending him all over the Astrals’ creation. He went through intersections where he had to intermittently stop and go; he ran up hills and practically rolled right back down the other side. Sundays were reserved for a special kind of hell known as the _Intermediate Course_ : a little bit of everything—five times straight.

That was where he found himself right now. The real kicker was that he didn’t get to keel over at the end in the comfort of his own home, sweating stains into the carpet and contemplating the sweet, sweet release of death. That was basically his favorite twenty minutes of the day. (As far as Ignis knew, it was only five—his schedule was too strict to allow for wallowing to take so long, but he could always eat extra fast to make up for it.) Monday through Saturday, the next step in his regimen was to go back to his house and prepare one of the breakfast options that Ignis had included on his list of approved meals and foods. It was always healthy while somehow designed to be tasty too— _designed_ because Ignis somehow managed to make _everything_ taste amazing. When Prompto tried cooking the _exact_ same thing, it always turned out pretty bland. Or burnt. Yeah, usually burnt.

Sundays were the one day of the week when his carpet remained clean, his death unimagined, and his charred eggs blissfully reprieved until the cycle started up again Monday morning. That, of course, was because his route ended at the gates of the Citadel rather than his front door.

And _man_ , he’d had about twenty-seven consecutive panic attacks the first time he figured _that_ out.

Admittedly, it was probably a bad idea not to go over his route beforehand. Ignis didn’t seem like the kind of person who would send him anywhere dangerous—he’d said his goal was to keep Prompto _in_ Noct’s life, after all, not send him running for the hills—but still, he could have saved himself a lot of embarrassment if he’d just taken a second to look and see that yeah, he was going to show up at a literal palace drenched in sweat and reeking to high heaven.

Just another day of living the dream.

The first time had been the worst. Prompto had stumbled to a halt right outside the gates, his mouth hanging open so far that he was pretty sure his jaw got burned on the asphalt. He’d almost turned around and gone home to send a quick text to Ignis, telling him that he’d gotten the route wrong (because having Noct’s chamberlain’s private phone number was apparently a thing now), when one of the guards called out to him.

They’d been expecting him.

And so was Ignis, somewhere inside.

Uh huh. That didn’t make him feel like evaporating into thin air _at all_.

It took a few more tries before Prompto perfected the art of arriving to the Citadel looking like an utter mess without feeling the need to throw himself out of the nearest window in protest. The guards didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t at his best; some of them even appeared to be a little sympathetic to his plight. Prompto was positive that Ignis hadn’t organized their training rituals as well, but Prompto had to wonder just what level of hell they’d gone through with whoever _had_. If Ignis was bad, he could only imagine what the guy in charge must be like.

By now, he was used to the attention and actually felt confident enough to wave when he saw the usual guards stationed at their Sunday morning posts. His arm was about as steady as jelly, and he was almost positive that the gesture looked more in line with the random flailing of a guy who felt like all of his limbs had been set on fire, but he was still _proud_. It took guts to look those guys in the eye much less interact with them, how ever briefly. When he was practically falling over with the effort it had taken to do his five laps around the city and arrive here for yet another trial, he would claim even the smallest victories.

Ignis wasn’t so forgiving.

“Fourteen minutes past your deadline,” he announced sharply as Prompto finally trudged into the training room they had arranged to use for his weekly check-ins. Prompto sighed, leaning wearily against a sparring dummy with a whine.

“I know…”

“You were three minutes earlier last week.”

“I _know_ ,” pouted Prompto with an exasperated huff. Well, he tried to make it sound put-out, but it was really just a veiled attempt to regain some of the breath he was still missing. If the raised eyebrow he got in return was any indication, he probably wasn’t doing such a great job of hiding it. “It’s _hot_ today.”

“Indeed, I do believe they call that _summer_ ,” observed Ignis, utterly unaffected by the level of his suffering. It was no wonder the king made this guy Noct’s advisor—he was a brick wall.

Prompto groaned, collapsing into a heap and kicking his legs out. It would have been a hell of a sight for anyone who walked in: some random kid from the city sprawled out on the training room mats like he might die at any moment. That was probably why Ignis tutted at him under his breath—appearances were everything around here. Prompto was beginning to figure that out after meeting all the ridiculously intimidating people in Noct’s life, only to find out later that they weren’t really so bad.

Take Ignis, for example. He seemed like he was the type of dude who would kill you as soon as look at you setting a glass down without a coaster beneath it; his eyes were sharper than a bird of prey’s, and he knew how to guilt Noct into doing what he was supposed to without so much as blinking. For maybe the trillionth time, if Prompto hadn’t known that only members of the royal family could use magic without special circumstances, he would have thought that Ignis was born some kind of wizard or something. That was the only explanation for how well he could take the prince in hand.

Once Prompto started getting to know the guy, however, he began to see a different picture taking shape. Months of encounters had been enough to show him that Ignis was tough because he was devoted. For as often as he nagged at Noct to clean his room or learn to cook a few of his own meals ( _not_ including Cup Noodles, much to Noct’s annoyance), it was even more frequent that he showed up randomly with freshly baked pastries and enough groceries to stock Noct’s apartment with the prince’s favorite frozen meals for the next month. Despite how many times he argued the opposite, he _did_ seem to live to pick up after Noct and often seemed to do so gladly; his visits would be accompanied by conversation and teasing, and he’d even joined them in a game of _King’s Knight_ on more than one occasion. It was difficult to play with him because he was so underleveled, but they couldn’t really expect much more than that when he was busy engaging in Responsible Adulting™ on a daily basis.

And even though Ignis was constantly pointing out that there weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish everything that was required, he still found the time to help Prompto wrap his insecurities up tightly in a box and shove them aside until his next weigh-in.

It was that more than any sense of personal motivation that made Prompto accept Ignis’s proffered hand and allow the latter to haul him to his feet. He could marathon bitching far longer than running, but he would never deny that he was grateful Ignis had invested the time into him.

Well, at least until he got on the scale.

Prompto always held his breath during this part, the anxiety of an entire week without checking seeming to stick in his throat the same way every burger or slice of pizza seemed to fuse with his bones. It had been Ignis’s idea to put off weighing himself until their weekly meetings, which had been a pretty huge divergence from what Prompto had been doing before. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest course of action, but he was used to hopping on the scale every morning before getting dressed and eating and doing anything to throw off the numbers. Yeah, he knew that it fluctuated and water weight was a thing and blah blah blah—but he had to _know_.

When Ignis proposed waiting, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Those first few days had seen him standing in his bathroom every morning, staring down at the scale and resisting the urge to just check _really_ quickly and pretend he hadn’t seen the number. It got easier the longer he went without that crucial part of his routine, but the curiosity hit him at the absolute _weirdest_ moments. For example, when he was watching Noct eat his lunch and knew the prince didn’t need to care about his weight because he was already skinny enough as it was. Or when they were at the arcade playing racing games and he set his foot on the pedal, irrationally picturing the plastic snapping under the pressure of holding his leg. _Or_ when he went back over Ignis’s menu to decide on what he’d be eating for dinner only to pause at the dessert section and wonder if Noct’s chamberlain _really_ meant it when he said something light would be okay.

Yeah. Not healthy.

He couldn’t help it, though. His weight was like a ghost that haunted his every step, reminding him that if he let it back in the way it desperately wanted, he would go right back to the way he used to be: worthless, shy, and alone. Nothing he told himself seemed to make any difference; ordering it to go to hell was just as effective as making a literal list of the reasons why that would never happen. Maybe it wasn’t his _body_ that was broken so much as his _brain_ …

“Well within our set parameters.” Ignis’s voice broke through his musings, and Prompto’s eyes snapped open to see him wearing a satisfied half-smile. “Excellent work, Prompto.”

Blinking, he stuttered incoherently a few times before he blurted out, “Y-You… Seriously?”

By now, Ignis was probably used to the fact that he never believed he hadn’t gained a million pounds in a week; his reaction was always a patient nod and oddly reassuring tone. “Indeed. You have maintained the same weight as last time, less a few ounces, in fact. I take it you have been adhering to the updated nutritional guide I provided last time?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“Then I suppose we’ve found a regimen that will work. So long as you continue to follow the daily routine we’ve laid out, you should anticipate similar results. In another month or so, we shall reevaluate to ensure that the current plan is doing as expected, but otherwise, I believe we can maintain your present course.”

“Awesome!” Prompto cheered, punching the air in his excitement. He realized a moment later that jumping was probably _not_ the best idea when he was still standing on the scale and sheepishly stepped back onto solid ground, but it didn’t appear that Ignis was going to hold it against him.

“I’m glad that you approve.”

Prompto couldn’t help but scoff at that. “ _Approve_? Dude, you let me eat _chocolate_.”

“In moderation,” Ignis reminded him sternly. “Any more than that would require an increase to your daily exercises.”

Groaning, he exclaimed, “They’re already bad _enough_!”

“Then I recommend not engaging in any behavior that would make it worse.”

“Fiiiiiiine…”

His point firmly hammered home (and with Prompto’s knees already protesting the very idea of even more miles added to the ridiculous amount he ran every day), Ignis pushed the scale back into place against the wall and cleared his throat. All of a sudden, he didn’t look as confident as he usually did. If Prompto didn’t know any better, he would have thought Ignis was _nervous_ about something.

“Now that that is taken care of, on to other business,” he briskly continued, stepping past Prompto and leading the way back out of the locker room.

There was little choice but to follow, albeit more than curiously. “Uh…business? I thought the whole weekly check-in thing _was_ the business…?”

“Only part, I’m afraid.”

_Oh, that doesn’t sound good._

If Ignis noticed his sudden hesitation, he didn’t mention it and instead continued, “I admit that I had an ulterior motive in meeting you here today.”

Great, there it was. No amount of reminding himself that it had been _months_ since he’d befriended Noct could keep him from thinking that this was the end—that Ignis was going to tell him that he wasn’t good enough to be associated with the prince and needed to end it before the latter got even more attached. The same moment had played out in his dreams ever since he’d first worked up the nerve to approach Noct at school, and his brain was _positive_ that he’d finally gotten to the point he’d been dreading.

And really, could he blame anyone for thinking he didn’t belong here? Prompto lived with the reality that he wasn’t extraordinarily smart or tough or funny; hell, he wasn’t extraordinary at _anything_ except maybe whining and _King’s Knight_ , and that wasn’t bound to take him very far. It was a near daily occurrence that he wondered why Noct even kept him around, so the idea that he was finally getting the boot really didn’t surprise him despite the disappointment that was already gnawing at his stomach in preparation for the worst.

“Prompto.”

Jumping slightly, he realized that he’d been staring at the ground with his eyes closed, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as though just waiting for a blow. That was…sort of exactly what he’d been feeling, actually, so it wasn’t too far from the mark. When he reluctantly raised his eyes, however, it was to find that Ignis was staring at him with an expression of mingled concern and…remorse? What would he be feeling sorry for? It was _Prompto_ who couldn’t live up to the reputation a prince’s friend should have had, after all.

“Perhaps I approached the situation all wrong,” Ignis was muttering to himself, shaking his head. “You aren’t here to be rebuked, Prompto, at least not by me.”

_Well, that’s good. …I think._

“In fact, I was hoping to discuss something related to our current arrangement, in a sense.”

“Uh…related?”

“What he means is he wants you to learn how to fight.”

Were those _his_ clothes on the floor? Because he was almost positive he’d jumped right out of them when a familiar gruff voice spoke _right_ next to his ear.

Whipping around, Prompto’s jaw hit the ground at exactly the same time as Ignis sighed, “I was hoping to broach the subject with a bit more finesse, Gladio.”

The buff dude towering over Prompto— _Gladio_ , where had he heard that name before?—grunted in acknowledgement. “Any more _finesse_ and you’d’ve been going backwards, Iggy.”

“Says the man who would prefer to terrify him. An excellent point.”

That summed it up pretty well. It also kickstarted Prompto’s brain until he realized exactly where he’d heard that name and seen that face before—with Noct. The prince was always talking about training with _Gladio_ and sparring with _Gladio_ and never being able to measure up to the obnoxiously high standards _Gladio_ had set for him. And there had been that one time when they went to the arcade after their exams only to be startled with a surprise appearance by—you guessed it— _Gladio_. Prompto had no idea how he could have forgotten that he’d stared after this guy as he and Noct left the arcade that day, the latter muttering an apology while the former barely seemed to register Prompto’s existence.

Gladio was Gladiolus Amicitia.

The future Shield of the future king of Lucis.

_Ho. Ly. Shit._

And it was right about then that Gladio’s words actually sank in.

“You want me to _what_ now!?”

“What Gladio was attempting to say,” Ignis hurried to interject before the Shield could confuse or frighten or whatever him any further, “was that maintaining relations with Noct may potentially place you into some compromising positions in the future. As such, it would be beneficial for you to learn some defensive tactics in the event that you should find yourself threatened.”

Prompto felt his eyes widen until he was surprised they didn’t pop right out of his head. “Is… Is that _likely_?”

“It is…doubtful that you would ever encounter a situation in which you would be in any real danger,” Ignis hedged, which only seemed to prompt Gladio’s intervention.

“But it can happen.”

“Possibly.”

“Probably.”

The glare Ignis sent Gladio was cold enough that the Glacian herself would have been shivering, but Gladio weathered it like a pro. That little voice in the back of Prompto’s head wanted to tell him that this was just another example of why he didn’t belong—the fact that these two had known each other forever while Prompto was an outsider—but he was too busy reeling from the unexpected direction the conversation had taken.

Threat? _Him_? Okay, so he’d known that something like that _could_ happen if he was friends with a prince, but he’d always figured that someone like him wouldn’t really be on anyone’s radar. After all, how unimpressive was he compared with Noct or one of his many intimidating guards? Anyone who thought Prompto was the best way to get at Noct was sorely mistaken, almost laughably so.

Still, these two were obviously taking the matter seriously even if Ignis was trying to downplay the situation for his sake, so he would do the same. Stranger things had happened, anyway.

“So, uh… W-What did you have in mind?” he inquired in what he would _never_ admit was a squeak. Not even when it made Gladio smirk.

“Ever handle a sword before?” the latter asked, his grin growing unsettlingly wide when Prompto gulped and shook his head in the negative.

Something told him this was _not_ going to be fun.

 

***

 

The good news: Prompto got to strike off two days a week from Ignis’s workout schedule.

The bad news: they were replaced by training with the future king’s Shield himself.

_Ugh._

“That all you got?” Gladio huffed, his eyebrow raised in that way Prompto was beginning to realize meant he was unimpressed. No surprises there.

“Yup.” He managed to lift an arm and make an unenthusiastic thumbs up before both fell limply back to the mat beneath him. “Pretty much.”

Noct’s Shield suddenly appeared above him. “Not gonna get much better from down there.”

 _Not gonna get much better period_ , he decided he wasn’t going to bother saying. They had been at this for almost a month, and Prompto was still about as good with a sword as Noct was at waking up at a reasonable hour. Given the amount of complaining Ignis did about the latter, there really wasn’t much hope for Prompto.

Gladio hadn’t been assigned as the King’s Shield for nothing, though, and he wasn’t about to swallow any excuses. His huge hand closed around Prompto’s wrist and literally dragged him to his feet, Prompto whining in protest the entire way.

“Up and at ‘em. No time to be lying down on the job.”

“Are you sure the bad guys wouldn’t just give up if I played dead?” Prompto asked, only half joking.

Snorting, Gladio rolled his eyes. “You really wanna take that risk?”

The correct answer to that question was _no_ , but Prompto wanted desperately to just say _yes_ and be done with it. And Gladio totally knew it, too.

“It’s not like anyone’s asking you to join the Crownsguard or anything,” he pointed out, folding his arms the way all Prompto’s teachers did when they thought he was being particularly stupid. “It’s a sword. You wave it around—easy.”

“ _Easy_ for you to say,” grumbled Prompto. He adopted the same stance because if Gladio could play that game then, dammit, so could he. A month ago, he would have been too intimidated to try something like that, but it was fair game now that he knew Gladio wasn’t allowed to snap him like a twig. Noct’s orders.

And okay, so maybe it _should_ have been easy. Take metal stick, wave metal stick around, put metal stick away—boom, you’re a soldier! Except Prompto could barely walk upstairs half the time without tripping over his own feet and risking serious injury. The fact that he hadn’t managed to behead himself with one of the training weapons yet was miraculous enough without adding actual fighting into the mix.

The same thing must have occurred to Gladio, because he deflated a moment later and walked away to replace both their wooden swords on the rack. “We’ve tried swords, lances, and daggers. There’s gotta be _something_ you’re good at.”

Prompto didn’t take offense to that; it wasn’t anything he didn’t say to himself at least ninety-six times every day. Even Noct hadn’t been able to argue that he wasn’t hopeless when he’d sat in on one of their training sessions early on. Finding the courage to tell him that his Shield had offered to help Prompto learn self-defense had been tough enough, but knowing that Noct was watching from the corner of the room was borderline impossible. By the time Gladio finally let him off the hook for the day (only ten minutes earlier than usual, which was the best Noct could wheedle him down to), Prompto had five bruises, an aching skull, and about seven different cuts from where the wooden sword didn’t feel wooden _enough_. Noct had tried to be nice about it, but they both ended up agreeing that maybe video games were more his forte when it came to fighting.

_Video games… Man, I’m an idiot._

“Actually…I think I’ve got an idea.”

Which was how they ended up in the firing range Gladio said hardly anyone ever used. It wasn’t really a priority for the Crownsguard or Kingsglaive to get firearms training; they were traditionally more partial to swords and shields and all the hand-to-hand stuff that would get Prompto killed before he got anywhere near an enemy. Guns, however, were something he felt like he had some experience with. You didn’t have to do much more than mash a button when your game character used a sword, but firearms were much the same as real life, it turned out: you still had to aim and account for angles and wind. The only real difference was that there was no recoil in video games—and _damn_ , that hurt like hell!

When Gladio hit the button to reel in the person-shaped sheet of paper he’d been firing at, however, there was no denying that his hours of digital warfare paid off. Just about all the shots were centered within the lines, and a couple even went through the outline of the head!

That was good!

Actually, based on the way Gladio’s mouth hung open for a minute before he could compose himself, Prompto thought that _maybe_ it might just be a _little_ better than good. Noct’s Shield all but confirmed it as, finally controlling his reaction, he turned to Prompto with a grin of approval for the first time ever.

“Now this, we can work with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! Just a couple of brief notes:
> 
> 1) In the "Parting Ways" novel, they mention that Prompto is getting some basic Crownsguard training in self-defense for the trip to Altissia. I assumed this meant he didn't get any formal training earlier than that, but he's far too good with a weapon not to have practiced somewhere.  
> 2) The mention of Gladio meeting them in an arcade is from "Brotherhood."  
> 3) This chapter talks a lot about Prompto's unease with his weight. Some of the more derogatory remarks he makes about himself are not meant to be fat-shaming. He just has a very low sense of self-worth and has tied that to his weight, as he has in the game and other FFXV media; this is just meant to go inside how he mentally verbalizes that discomfort with himself.


	5. Family of a Sort

“These are the things you will take with you and remember for the rest of your lives. Friends come and go, but what you have achieved here is forever. Every one of you is capable of greatness as you move forward into life. Some of you may become one of the many workers who keep our fair city operating. Others might enter the noble professions in the medical or educational industries, and still others are bound for honorable service in His Majesty’s armed forces that are tasked with keeping us safe. Whatever path lies ahead, it is my belief that your years of devotion to your studies have provided all of the skills, knowledge, and abilities that you will need to be successful in your chosen career.”

_“Oh, totally. Like how some people are gonna run the country and others will probably work at Kenny Crow’s for the rest of their lives.”_

_“Way to rub it in. Good luck running that country, tho.”_

_“Hey! D: <”_

_“;p”_

Prompto scoffed at Noct’s message and would have tried to think of a good comeback had the students around him not glanced over like he was some kind of criminal for interrupting the principal’s speech. With a sheepishly apologetic smile, he lowered his phone instead and pretended to be paying attention again.

What was it with these graduation ceremonies? Everybody always got so long-winded, and even though it was supposed to be about _their_ accomplishments, Prompto couldn’t help thinking that it was all just a bunch of crap so that the school could get some attention for itself. That was the only reason he could find in handing out honorary awards (or, as he called them, _Donation Diplomas_ ) and going on about _so-and-so who’s given a ton of money to the school to make their educations possible_ rather than just letting the graduates shine up on stage.

Not that Prompto was looking forward to that part, of course. The whole _walking in front of hundreds of people_ thing really didn’t appeal to him. So much could go wrong—and totally did during their rehearsals. There were two flights of steps to get on and off the stage, both of which he’d tripped on; plus, it was just plain awkward to have to shake the principal’s hand, take his diploma, _and_ pose for a picture all at the same time. (He would rather be the one taking the photo if it meant avoiding having to see how bad he looked afterward, to be honest.) That wasn’t even mentioning all the time he had to humiliate himself between standing up and actually making it to the stage. Noct kept telling him that it was normal to have some jitters and that no one could screw up _that_ badly, but Prompto was positive that if anyone could do it, it would be him.

So, he’d spent most of the ceremony texting with Noct to keep his mind off the inevitable. The latter was either just as bored with the constant droning as he was or humoring Prompto when he was so obviously anxious, but he was grateful either way. Otherwise it would have been _three hours_ ( _why!?_ ) of sitting around waiting for all eyes to be on him.

And he did mean _all_. Because it wasn’t just a bunch of parents and friends watching today.

One of those parents might kinda be the king of Lucis.

Those friends were maybe sorta members of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive.

And the school had possibly lost their shit in the preparation process when they realized that this was going to happen.

That had been the most entertaining two weeks of Prompto’s high school career. Noct was a little less enthusiastic, what with the endless whispers that somehow got even louder and more frequent than they usually were, but he tried not to complain. Much.

Even when he did, Prompto knew that the façade was just a way to conceal excitement churning beneath the surface. After all, there was no hiding how the prince wandered around like a ghost those first few weeks after their teachers had started reminding them of their impending graduation, not from Prompto and definitely not from Ignis. Admittedly, it had taken him a little longer to realize what he was seeing than Noct’s chamberlain, but hey, he figured that was understandable given that they were only about three years into their friendship while Ignis had been around almost as long as Noct had been _alive_. Prompto could take a few extra minutes to process.

…Okay, and _maybe_ Ignis had brought up the subject with him during one of their weekly meetings, too. But Prompto already had a good idea of what was going on! He _did_!

“Noctis appears rather distraught these last few days,” Ignis had observed after Prompto stepped off the scale (without weighing any more than last week, _score_!). The latter had frowned up at him, scratching the back of his neck with an uncomfortable shrug.

“Uh…distraught?”

“Upset.”

Prompto had rolled his eyes and indignantly blurted out, “I know what it means!” When Ignis nodded but didn’t offer up much more than that, he’d prodded, “He hasn’t _seemed_ upset. Did he say somethin’?”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he realized that it was probably a stupid question. Unless they were talking about something small and petty, Noct never said a word about his own feelings. Sure, he’d grouse over Gladio pushing him in their training sessions and mutter under his breath every time Ignis tried to encourage him to behave more like the prince he was supposed to become, but there was never any heat or actual distress behind it. Noct was just blowing off steam. Anything more than that, though? He was a closed book. You could annoy the hell out of him with questions about what was wrong and how he was doing, and he would just smile (or grimace, more likely) and claim that he was fine.

 _Just tired_ , he’d say.

 _No big deal_ , he’d claim.

 _Bullshit_ , Prompto would snort internally. He never quite got around to saying it out loud because, well, it was Noct’s business. If he would rather work through his problems on his own and not tell anyone what was wrong, Prompto wouldn’t force him. He’d do everything in his power to cheer up his best buddy and maybe coax a few answers out of him, though. That was fair game.

Which was why he couldn’t help feeling a little bit like a failure over the fact that Ignis had realized what he hadn’t so quickly: Noctis _was_ upset. He’d shown all the signs for longer than Prompto felt comfortable admitting. He ate little, said even less, and put on that fake as hell smile like everything was absolutely normal.

So, like any good person who should have recognized that his friend was suffering a _long_ time ago, he did the only thing he could think of.

“What’s eating you?” he’d asked one day over burgers at the diner they’d taken to frequenting after their arcade visits. Noct had frozen almost imperceptibly for half a second before looking up with a carefully confused expression.

“What do you mean by that?”

Shrugging, Prompto had pointed out, “Nothin’. You just seem off. Thought something might be wrong.”

“Nah,” he’d denied and gone right back to his burger. The joke was on him, though.

“Uh, buddy…if nothing’s wrong, then…how come you’re eating tomatoes?”

One second—two— _there_ it was, that look of realization. Noctis had dropped his burger back onto the tray with a disgusted huff, downing half his soda in an effort to rid himself of the dreaded flavor of healthy food now that he was aware of it. When he’d surfaced again, he shifted uncomfortably under Prompto’s watchful eye and murmured. “It’s really nothing. Just got distracted.”

“Uh huh…”

Prompto had thought carefully for a minute before broaching the subject; he would have done it eventually anyway, but Ignis had asked him to as well. There were some things that Noct’s chamberlain simply couldn’t do, and pressing Noct about his wellbeing when the prince wasn’t feeling receptive to it was one of them. They were closer than close, yet when Noct occasionally got it into his head that Ignis only stuck around to do a job… Well, there had been more than one battle of the wills that ensued. No matter how many times Ignis assured him that he was asking as his friend and not the person who was _supposed_ to keep him healthy to one day take the throne, Noct would clam up. Not even Gladio would be able to get through to him at that point.

Which left Prompto. Of course.

“It’s not…about your dad or anything, is it?”

“What about him?” Noct had evaded, picking at his fries without looking up.

 _Oh yeah_ , he’d thought at the time. _Ignis is on point. Big shocker there._

“Nothing, just… Have you found out if he’s coming to graduation yet?”

Noct snorted and answered with a flippant wave of his hand, “Who knows? Probably has other things to be doing.”

He didn’t need to say it for Prompto to hear the words: _Probably has more important things to be doing._ That was the way Noct saw pretty much everything when it came to his father. For every holiday he missed and tried to make up for with a nice gift delivered through Ignis, for each occasion when his phone went to voicemail and Noct hung up before leaving a message, for all the crestfallen denials that his father’s continued absence bothered him in the slightest—it _did_. Every. Time.

“Did you ask him yet?” Prompto had inquired with a sympathetic smile. He knew how it felt to have parents that were never around, although the fact that _his_ didn’t seem to give a crap about him at all most of the time made it a lot easier. For Noct, who had documented proof that his father loved him, it had to feel pretty awful to know that your parent’s job came before you, even if that meant running a whole country and all.

“I left a message with his chamberlain,” Noct had mumbled dismissively, shrugging.

That was where the conversation had ended since Prompto didn’t know how else to approach the situation without making everything exponentially worse. On the bright side, he’d managed to text Ignis about it later to let him know that his suspicions had been correct.

Two days later, the king called his son.

The day after that, preparations began.

It was a good thing that there wasn’t much for Noct to do, because he’d been so taken aback at the idea that his father was actually going to make time to come to his graduation that he seemed at a loss as to what came next. When their teachers had reminded them to sign up for tickets, all he had to worry about was listing how many he needed.

Spoiler alert: it was a _lot_.

He’d been called to the principal’s office the following day to discuss the reason, and Prompto had it on good authority that the man had freaked the hell out at the idea of hosting the leader of their country and all his soldiers. Well, maybe not _all_ his soldiers; there were still plenty out fighting Niflheim or guarding the Citadel, but the staff was definitely taking the king’s presence at a public high school pretty seriously anyway. The three-ring circus of figuring out how security was going to work had been a nightmare—figuratively _and_ literally. Ignis looked like he hadn’t slept more than an hour that entire two weeks, and their Sunday check-ins had been put temporarily on hold while he organized how they were going to keep Noct safe in a crowd of hundreds of people who maybe weren’t _all_ as happy with the royal family as the rest. The Marshal had been responsible for the greater part of the preparations when it came to King Regis, from the sounds of things, and Ignis reported to him directly to ensure that their plans synced up.

In the end, the setup had been pretty simple, if a little embarrassing for Noct. His father had come in last and settled at the back of the crowd; there had been no special announcement, so unless you were sitting right by him, you didn’t really know he was there. Even Prompto had to crane his neck a little when they walked out just to catch a glimpse of his entourage, although the king himself was hidden behind the seemingly endless rows of people. The only person who really stuck out as being one of the Citadel’s finest was Gladio, who had taken up residence at the end of the row where Noct was sitting in case someone tried to stab him with their tie clip or something.

Honestly, Prompto was happy for him even if Noct did a pretty good job of pretending to be put out with some of the security requirements. Underneath it all, he knew that the latter was beyond excited to finally have a day where they weren’t the prince and the king, but just Noct and his dad. Prompto felt the same way, and it was a good thing, too—otherwise he might have been tempted to dwell on his own parents’ absence from the ceremony. It hadn’t been surprising when they told him (see: _left a note for him on the kitchen counter that morning_ ) that they couldn’t make it; he wasn’t exactly expecting them to show up anyway. Still, it would have been super depressing if Noct’s dad hadn’t made it too, so Prompto could easily overlook not having any family of his own on a day that was supposed to be special in favor of feeling only joy for his best friend.

Then again, it was hard to keep that momentum going when the boredom proceeded the same way Prompto figured it must every year: talking, talking, and oh look! More talking. He was starting to feel excited to graduate purely so he didn’t have to listen to the principal’s voice anymore.

“And now, with the power vested in me by the Lucian Ministry of Education, I confer upon the class of seven hundred fifty-four their diplomas and all the rights and benefits therein. Please rise to receive your diplomas.”

_Oh, thank the Six._

It had only been…a little over two hours already? Yup. Two hours of nonstop talking and grandstanding. Prompto had to wonder if they knew they could cut this whole thing down by at least half if they just shut up and _started_ with this part.

That would make too much sense, though, so it looked like they were stuck with this torture instead.

Mercifully, the ceremony picked up once the names got rolling. They had all been warned during their rehearsals not to do anything stupid on their way across the stage, and it looked like most people weren’t going to argue. Of course, there would always be your jokers who wanted to stop and do a little dance, which… Okay, it _was_ funny, and they were totally justified for wanting to celebrate, but come on. There were still a ton of them left, and Prompto didn’t want to be here all night. The sky was already starting to cloud up in that suspiciously stormy kind of way; that was sure to put a literal damper on things.

Once all the special people who were graduating with honors and all that were done, they started to alphabetically work their way through the rest of them. There were plenty of times when Prompto regretted being an _Argentum_ , but they all paled in comparison to this.

 _Okay, come on… You totally got this, Prompto… Just don’t trip. Please,_ please _, don’t trip._

He didn’t. Somehow, he managed to make it up the first set of stairs and hand the card with his name pronunciation on it to the presenter at the podium without incident. The woman smiled blandly at him and murmured her obligatory congratulations before announcing him to the stadium.

Which promptly broke out in cheers.

 _That_ was when Prompto tripped.

The toe of his shoe scuffed against the stage, sending him blundering forward a few steps. It didn’t bother him as much as it should have, though, not when he turned to stare out over the crowd. Most of the other students were doing the same—it wasn’t _them_ applauding, not the way it had been for most of the graduates. They weren’t technically supposed to cheer for their friends since it would detract from the attention the next person got, but some people just couldn’t control themselves. Even the principal’s sternest glare couldn’t shut them up.

This time, however, it looked like he was going to let it slide. Prompto had to admit that it was the smartest possible choice, especially since the ones making such a racket were all members of the Crownsguard.

Whistles and applause rose into the air above the mass of black-clad figures standing towards the back of the crowd; even Gladio, hovering off to the side where he was supposed to be keeping an eye on Noct, was grinning as he clapped with the rest. From up here, it was a little easier to see King Regis, who—holy shit. He was applauding. _The King_. Was clapping. And _smiling_. For _Prompto_.

_If I’m dreaming, please don’t pinch me._

Utterly stunned, Prompto’s gaze sought out Noct where he was standing a few spots back and found that his best friend was smirking proudly. Apparently, he wasn’t at all surprised by this show of support from the best the Citadel had to offer. Well. That made one of them.

A throat being cleared behind him reminded Prompto that he was kinda in the middle of something, and he sheepishly grinned at the principal as he reached out for the diploma cover.

A camera flashed.

They shook hands.

And then it was over.

Almost before he realized that he had his future literally held in his hands, Prompto was descending the steps on the opposite end of the stage and following the line back to his seat. He was so numb with shock that he nearly didn’t join in the commotion that exploded when Noct’s name was called. This time, it wasn’t just the royal retinue that showed their support; everyone in the stadium was standing and cheering, which Prompto figured was only to be expected. What kind of idiot didn’t clap for the dude who was going to rule your ass one day?

All the other names flew by in a blur, and then their principal was telling them that they were officially graduates of the class of seven hundred fifty-four. The ceremony ended with a roaring crowd and teary-eyed former students and hugs and jumping up and down and then Noct was there and they were laughing together and holy crap—they were _finished_.

They were finally free.

Well, Prompto was, anyway. The burden of expectation would never be lifted from Noct’s shoulders, but Prompto felt a lightness in his chest that he’d never experienced before. There was no more homework to be done, no grades to worry about; he didn’t have to stress over whether his performance was good enough to garner even the slightest nod from his parents. The looming threat of disappointing everyone he knew had fallen away to be trampled by their former classmates as they moved to find their families.

Families that they would celebrate with. Families who were proud of them and _wanted_ to see them succeed. Families who were waiting only a few yards away with balloons and flowers and stuffed animals and proud tears.

What must it be like to have people in your life who cared about you that much? What must it be like to have a _real_ family?

Prompto pulled in a deep, wavering breath and tried to push those thoughts to the place in his mind where he stored all his hang-ups. He was supposed to be _happy_ today, dammit!

And he _was_. The smile on his face didn’t falter for an instant as Noct dragged him back through the crowd towards the congregation that had gathered to see their prince cross that stage and take the next step towards his destiny. Gladio immediately ruffled Noct’s hair the way he knew the latter hated, but Ignis stepped closer to Prompto with the same small smile he adopted when Prompto finished his runs within their time limit or stepped on the scale to find he hadn’t gained any weight.

“Congratulations,” he said by way of greeting, squeezing Prompto’s shoulder. “This is quite an accomplishment.”

Rubbing the back of his neck with a bashful smile, he shrugged. “Thanks… ‘S’not that big a deal, though.”

Ignis immediately argued, “On the contrary, it _is_. Receiving your high school diploma is not a matter to take lightly. You have overcome the greatest hurdle of your life thus far, and now you shall doubtless move on to even greater exploits. That is something to be proud of.”

Prompto wasn’t really sure what he could say to _that_ , so he had to breathe a sigh of relief when Noctis came to his rescue.

“Ugh,” the prince groaned, throwing an arm dramatically around Prompto’s shoulders. “Can we not talk about _greater exploits_ right now, Specs? Graduation only _just_ ended.”

“Forgive me, Highness. How ever could I have forgotten?” Ignis sighed with a fond smile.

“Indeed,” a familiar voice interjected, “now is the time for celebrating. The future can wait a day.”

Prompto didn’t gape. He _didn’t_. He might just have stared a little bit with his mouth open so…he could…breathe. Yeah. That was it. He definitely wasn’t having a mild panic attack because the _king of Lucis was smiling at him as warmly as his own son_. Nope, totally not.

“Congratulations to you both,” King Regis said, placing an aging hand on Noct’s arm. Prompto didn’t think he’d ever seen the prince look so elated despite the way he still tried to downplay the whole thing as something totally natural. Noct’s imitated disinterest melted away, however, when his father turned to look at only him and murmured, “I’m so proud of you, my son.”

With slightly reddening cheeks, Noct bit back a smile that Prompto wished he’d just let loose. Now wasn’t the time to look _cool_! But he didn’t, and his tiny, “Thanks, Dad,” was almost lost in the din of voices around them. Not quite, though; the king’s smile and wetly shining eyes were enough to show that he’d heard.

It was surreal how easily Prompto was incorporated into the group as Noct and his dad led the way out of the stadium towards their familiar, fancy royal cars. It was almost like he truly _belonged_ when Ignis held open the door for him and he ducked into the front seat, fiddling with the corner of his diploma cover as they drove towards the Citadel for a celebration of some sort. The car was filled with chatter the entire time—Noct regaling his father with some of their finer high school moments while Gladio and Ignis interjected with sarcastic comments that made him lash out indignantly. All the while, King Regis just laughed and watched Noct as if he was the only person on the planet. Prompto couldn’t keep the smile off his face at that; he just wished that Noct could see it the same way the rest of them did and hold on to that during the rough days when it seemed like his father simply didn’t care enough.

Based on the size of the party waiting for them, he cared a _lot_. Like, the finest royal catering and decorations shipped in from Altissia levels of _a lot_.

The best part was that Noct got to bask in his father’s attention for the rest of the day and well into the evening, especially after the guests and well-wishers had vanished and left just his closest friends and attendants in one of the cozier drawing rooms. Even though Prompto knew that the party was for him as well—Ignis had said so himself—he found that observing the royal family’s interactions was more absorbing than any music or dancing could be. There was something touching in the way King Regis handed Noct a wrapped present and watched with delight as the prince’s jaw dropped at the sight of the latest gaming console that hadn’t even hit stores yet. Prompto felt a yearning in his chest that he was usually able to ignore while Noct wrapped his arms around his father’s shoulders and the latter held him tightly, like he might vanish into thin air if he loosened his grasp for an instant.

And then a similar box was pressed into his own hands, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it.

“Go on,” Ignis prompted him, his lips turned up in a knowing smirk. “Open it.”

Prompto blinked. “Open…?”

“It is for you,” King Regis explained with a warm smile. Not as warm as the one he’d leveled at Noct, but it still made Prompto’s insides light up.

_For…me?_

Apparently. The king, Noct, Ignis, Gladio, Master Clarus, Cor the Immortal, and the handful of others that remained watched as he carefully tore open the black and silver paper to reveal the most amazing—and expensive—camera he’d ever seen in his entire life.

“W-Wha…!?” he eloquently exclaimed, his gaze darting up to the king’s when the latter chuckled fondly.

“Noctis told me that you are a talented photographer,” he explained. With a gesture towards the camera, he continued, “I’ve seen some of your pictures. Talent such as yours requires only the best tools.”

That was putting it mildly—this camera was _professional_. It was the sort of thing you’d expect to see with a journalist or one of the many attendants who kept visual records of what was going on at the Citadel for future generations. If he added up the value of everything he owned, Prompto still didn’t think he would come anywhere near the price of this camera.

“T-This… This is…”

King Regis didn’t let him finish and firmly cut in, “A gift, and a well-deserved one at that. I trust that you will put it to excellent use.”

It was a little embarrassing just how quickly he tripped over himself to agree, but the king didn’t appear to hold it against him. None of them did. Noct laughed a little, as did Gladio, but the rest just smiled at him. Even the Marshal was smirking, whether from amusement at his surprise or genuine happiness was anyone’s guess. It was strange, the feeling that gave him. For a long minute, he couldn’t quite tell what it was—the sensation was foreign, almost uncomfortable in its unfamiliarity.

And then it hit him. As Gladio smacked his arm and Noct bumped their shoulders together, he realized what it was.

Maybe…just maybe…Prompto had a family after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, another one done. I have to admit that I'm going to be pretty sad to see this story go, especially since... Well, you guys know that fluff only lasts so long when I'm around. ;) The only note I have for this chapter is that the year of their graduation is accurate (M.E. 754) based on Noct's birth year (M.E. 736); I calculated graduation based on the U.S. grade levels, meaning that he would be graduating roughly at the age of seventeen since his birthday is later in the year. Oh, and yes, that camera is meant to be the one they take on their road trip two years later. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I had fun writing it! Next up, we've got the angst train pulling into the station--literally. After that, there's only one more story in this series before I start writing a frankly ridiculous number of AUs that have attacked my imagination over the last couple of months. Hopefully you guys will stick around to see what I've got in store! :) To everyone who has left comments, kudos, or bookmarked--thank you for your feedback! It's been invaluable, and as I've said before, I always appreciate your thoughts. 
> 
> Also, feel free to join me anytime at theasset6.tumblr.com .
> 
> Until next time, walk tall, my friends. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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